Martyr Race
It is woman's place to wail
and sift her calloused hands through blood and ash,
at least once or twice.
It is her lot to bear, with stone mouth and only brimming eyes,
the immutable injuries of a common day.
How naturally her feet bruise.
How easily her small self bows under others' weight.
Yet woman, so full of sorrow,
holds her chin with grace,
speaks with strength,
and rushes under the bulk of falling
ice or brimstone, willingly.
Woman is the martyr race,
the masochist by instinct.
and sift her calloused hands through blood and ash,
at least once or twice.
It is her lot to bear, with stone mouth and only brimming eyes,
the immutable injuries of a common day.
How naturally her feet bruise.
How easily her small self bows under others' weight.
Yet woman, so full of sorrow,
holds her chin with grace,
speaks with strength,
and rushes under the bulk of falling
ice or brimstone, willingly.
Woman is the martyr race,
the masochist by instinct.
Published by A Powers
FIND WHAT YOU WANT ON MY ORGANIZED WEBSITE http://awriterpowers.yolasite.com/ A. Powers is an English major and longtime freelance writer. She enjoys sharing her experiences with crafts, films and other... View profile
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