He

He sits among the rubble, with the stoner and the sinner, prying splinters from their worn and  ragged souls.

He's a salve, he's a saint, he understands his redemption....the only thing that differentiates the two.

Prostitution feeds addiction, fans the flame of their rejection,

while he is constant;
Watering internal fires.

Pills a pitfall, wounding words, sinking deeper in depression.

Life diminished to a chaser and a smoke and a prayer that they believe     goes  unheard.

He's the whisper and reminder to the heart that is downtrodden,

to the men who are more like boys and the girls who cry for safety.

Believing they are lost, they take the role and play it well

until he comes and breathes security to       them     all.

He's the one who can believe for them

amidst their lives of ruin...

 until they are well enough to believe it for themselves.

Til then he is sunshine in a dark and crowded corner;

a barrier between the knives that are all around.
He reminds them of the playgrounds,
offers peace and sacred friendship,
praying for redemption,
planting seeds of who they REALLY are.