Lucy Richardson was deceived
by the voices, overpowered
by the visions, covered over.

She let herself be duped.
She embraced her deception,
locked it in her heart with a thousand keys.

Ridiculed the livelong day,
mocked by every mouth. 

She shouted. Warned violence,
destruction, thunder and fire.

Taunted by passersby. A woman
of sorrow, acquainted with infirmity.

Insult and reproach were her daily
bread. Her good they made evil,
her evil good.

She determined to warn no more.
No more spew grim prophecies.
No more stand sentinel at the gates,
abjuring the comfortably recalcitrant.

What will be, will be.

But fire was in her heart,
electricity in her skeleton. 
She ached to lock it away. She could not.