I met her, pleading eyes hiding hardness,
Her beauty so numbed, she slurred her words.
She asked for cash, just needing forgetfulness,
So I gave her compassion.
I saw her face, quite marred by scars,
Her slashed, now scarred neck speaking of anger’s violence.
Life so desperate, willing to be used to breathe another day.
And she gave me sorrow.
I met her pimp, a hardened man quite lost in oblivion,
His eyes saw nothing, feeling only his withdrawal.
I sat beside him and spoke of destiny, promises of hope restored.
And so, He gave me his tears.
I saw the successful, working hard across the street,
They smiled knowingly, seeing the innocent meddling with the fallen.
They saw only broken promises, ugly wastrels, spreading disease.
But He showed me beauty’s treasure.
Author – Bill Tidsbury