The Shadow Out of Eden

Immanuel R. Knight

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Woman’s beauty is in her tenderness
That nurturing wisdom only a mother may know
A body is naught but a poor shadow, one falsehood promised
Pleasures taken therein are fleeting nothings, and will pass
At time’s end all beauty of flesh shall be left unremembered
A woman is made beautiful not by her shadow, but through her heart
By her light, the real love of a mother
Through which she is fulfilled

But for the small price of abandoning her heart, the fruit of compassion
For sacrificing them unto the alters of Moloch and Belial
Thence indulging in all her tongue may salivate after
With neither care nor burden put upon her bosom
But what then, in her elder years?

No child to declare “that was my mother, and I loved her”
No husband to promise “I will cherish her always in my heart”
No witness to attest “she lived righteously, and was good”
No judge to decree “she is blameless before all her days”
What then of her?
What then of true beauty forgone?

Be tied not up in your bundles and bodies
For these all shall wither and pass
Only one thing is truly eternal
And that’s real love, which will forever last