By Brooke Luby
Broken beds hold rotting mattresses Where broken hearts entertain rotting lust
Deep pain mistaken as fleeting pleasure
Stringy dull hair hangs over battered eye-liner heavy eyes
It wasn’t always like this
He swept his fathers shop but was beaten when he missed a spot
She picked flowers and fetched water for her mother till
She was sold like a goat to a man passing by
Now, the beaten boy’s pain’s coming out
As the girl silently screams in this dark, death-smell room
Here, broken dreams sink like innocence lost
Shards of glass in window frames
See free people on streets below, but a world away
Is there a seed of hope in her dried up soul?
How far is too far before thin bones snap like twigs?
How much abuse can one person take?
How much using can one person do?
Where is the man of passion kicking down the door?
Are they hypnotized by glittering stilettos?
Tired feet, secrets and lies drown out life
Poison seeps early, the pointing and laughter,
Eying a soul like a pound of pork or a new car
These are your sisters
Your mothers
Your daughters
But these are also your brothers
Your fathers
Your sons
Is this out of redemption’s arms?
Is this out of the reach of grace?
Is this beyond true loves forgiveness?
Brooke is a writer and missionary with Youth With A Mission. You can find this and much more in her self published collection of poetry “All Things Are Becoming New.” All proceeds from this book are going towards her mission’s trip to Kyrgyzstan this summer. Check out her book here.