Mortal frailty ails society
while the anointed wield
Mary's saintly grace
as a sword of moral piety.

Speak to her out loud hailing
while eating the sacrificed goat;
spoiled fruit, a sinking boat,
dirty deeds ripe for bailing.

She lives in fresco ceilings
and chisel grooves carved in cedar;
bowed head palms pressed kneeling
blind sheep cannot see her.

Her boy born in a manger
as a man he freed the enslaved
no stray lamb a stranger
he turned his cheek and forgave.

The son walked roads of rubble
outside the church walls
offered a hand when men stumbled
who'll raise the pillars when they fall?

CREATIVE

Nice poem .