Author's Notes: Not quite sure what I'm doing. This is possibly sacrilegious. But I've just become sort of obsessed with the idea of Mary—how could you possible cope with being the mother of God?

Anyways . . . I don't really expect anyone to read this one. It's just for my personal satisfaction. :-)

Pietà

For my mother

Her baby on her lap –

And God is man and man is God

(O man, her child, her son)

Holes in his hands to match the holes in her heart.
Her baby, her baby on her lap –

And she is saved.

And he? Her baby boy?

He has fallen to the shadows.

Condemned by those he refused to condemn.

But what is love, without this sorrow?

She has known since the beginning.

He was not hers to keep.

Only hers to lose.