A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
IN a cleft that's christened Alt
Under broken stone I halt
At the bottom of a pit
That broad noon has never lit,
And shout a secret to the stone.
All that I have said and done,
Now that I am old and ill,
Turns into a question till
Women of courage, women of strength ,
Women of faith and devotion.
Mothers of children with spirits so strong
Who may have unbridled imaginations. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
They are Christians, towers of strength.
They are women who put Jesus first in life
Show’ ring His love on all those they greet. Women with losses, women who love,
Whose strength and whose courage comes from above,
Whether they're mothers; or loving Aunties,
It's plain to see Jesus’ love shines through them. REFRAIN: They are women, women of courage
Why do you think you're better
If your culture is not the same?
Yes, maybe you seem different
But deep inside all are the same.
Why do they think they're better?
If one is black and one is white,
If one is man and one is woman.
They are the same, that is their right.
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
I became friends with the darkness
The sun has become a myth
The Rain was only a comforting sound
And how I missed the snow
The walls were covered in tally marks
Counting the days
But seems time has escaped me
And the monsters in my head where only getting louder
Women are created in the image of God just as men are
Females are seen by Jesus as genuine persons
Not simply as the objects of male desire
Every family has disagreements, conflicts
Some men treat her with bitterness and uncontrolled anger,
They quarrel with her, abuse her,
Some Men are so rude, violent, controlling, and hatred
They do not reflect the love of Christ to her
For the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God
Lighting candles in the shade
of high priests and saints,
she prays for a peace that only exists
before she discovered her power.
She cartwheels from one man to another,
paints her eyelids with graffiti,
dreams of marigolds and picket fences,
as she is used,
her body recycled,
her rent taken from parts
There is some ambiguity as to the reasons why artists drew from the female nude. It is my belief that it served a dual purpose. The academic gave it a kind of respectable veneer, while underneath it was a way for artists to satisfy their private desires.
Both the visual arts and pornography have centered on the male gaze. This is what makes them serve a similar function to the one viewing it. The subject is fully unaware that someone is looking at her. She is in another place and time from the viewer.
Once was a girl who had a lovely face
With deep blue ocean eyes, shined as sapphire
And lips crimson red, as blossoming tulips
And rosy cheeks that charmed a whole Empire
The girl was known for her bewitching beauty
Petite as roses, striking like a statue
Blessed with wit and ace acuity
Little was known of, by ones attached to