A tribute to Jeanne (Joan) d’Arc, RNAi and expression despite persecution.
Bloody reaper, ubiquitous death,
And a mother who cannot, take her breath,
Between two thighs, pressed against her chest,
He severs heads and fingers,
And spits the rest.
“Push … Push O’ Semitic womb,
You give birth, so I may doom.”
“Push, push, push you maternal fool!
From your belly to the tomb!”
Declares the ghoul.
A Gene was transcribed and translated,
But a proteasome,
To rip the string of beads,
Before it could ever fold.
Was it expressed?
Was its story ever told?
Terrified bystander finds her voice,
And silently declares “Behold! Rejoice!”
A rooster from Gaul with a lily on its head,
Announcing a new dawn,
Amongst the dead.
A passionate Jew sang a hymn,
About a Kingdom for us from Him,
Is crucified before he succeeds,
To build it,
As he promised he could.
Did he change his mind?
Have I misunderstood?
Shhhhhh … Shhhhhh,
Silence … quiet … do not speak,
Do not cry young girl,
Do not be weak.
Tiptoe lightly into the Temple,
Find the grail behind the altar,
Drink alone, commit to memory,
“The Lord is Gracious,
I am, The Appointee.”
Jeanne transcribed her story,
For penance, not for glory,
As her ink flowed red and warm,
And her secrets took shape and form.
“Translation for the world mademoiselle?”
An angel asked,
As she stood inside her cell.
Like a virgin she looks down,
And smiles towards the end of her gown,
“No … it is a message just for me.”