Madonna and the Whore

You shaped me out of the white marble
That embellished the pavement you were stepping on
And unaware of such self-involved objectifications,
You then pressed it to the ground and walked on.

Constructed in the dark corners of your imagination,
The sculpture came into being
With a life of its own,
But of your very own design.

You did not see the woman hiding in the depths of her horizons 
Nor could you see the child who was scared and crying;
Appearance was what coloured your perspectives
While you tentatively tapped in just beneath the surface of your feelings.

You painted out a silhouette that belonged to a Madonna,
If there was more to it,
Oblivious, you didn't know it;

And oh, the Madonna was in fact a whore.

Little did you know
The whore was made 
Of Light and Shadow
Beams of hope and sheer delight
Reflected on the surface
Of the calm nature of the Human Spirit.