I heard her voice.
she sang a siren's story of fear filled
blistering oppression. ringing from the
deepest valley, puncturing its sound
through the thick and unyielding darkness.
for her, I could do nothing of great measure or
importance. decided in its stead
to bow down low to her tears and
answer their call by catching the searing
grief upon the strength of mine own
bent back.
my hope, my desire was to allow her the
length of time called rest. I extended my hand.
palm up in openness. she caught ahold.
sighing languidly. as weariness seeped from her being
and sleep took notice of her soul. healing
her shatterings.
and she awakened to joy in the morning.
(Will you hear and respond to her call? Lift your hands and heart on behalf of the sex trafficked Beloved.)
