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A poor woman's wisdom is disregarded.
And her gift... is despised.
The testimonies of her beliefs
Are likened to a child that's captivated by fairytales.
Her hopes... are but a symbol of folly
Even amongst the biggest of fools.
And her faith is scorn to mockery.
To them that hate her...
She stands as an idol of shame.
Her passion is rationally insane.
Because even in the dawn of days,
She awakens with much sorrow
As she discerns the many deceptions
From the angel of "light".
And in the darkness of night...
She sees the hidden shadows that lurks therof.
To be awaken...
Is to be in a constant state of rage.
But her anger is a necessity.
Used as a weapon of defense and survival.
She understands why the caged bird sings.
And in such a cage...
She must retain the measures of her moral compass.
Even while she atones for the fruits of her womb.
She stands as a living sacrifice for the sake of her children.
In their silence... they watch her closely.
She understands that what she models for them
Will either bulid them... or destroy them.
She refuses for them to be as she...
But a child of long suffering and wrath.
Her love for them
Will triumph over her indignation...
Jen'uwin Mor
