Chartered Love

They’ve been called many things.
Their coloured pasts and clouded futures merge,
To meet the needs of the hungry ones who come to feast.

Nightly battles with the ever present possibility
That some so called prince charming would see it fit to stop by
And deliver his deepest and most dreadful secrets,
Murdering souls on end with his lust and his need to be
Fed.

See them in their droves.
Like brute beasts borrowing time,
Their tie clips glistening in the moonlight;
Their jackets offering temporary warmth to the daughters of mammon.

Oh if he could smell the perfume that is her soul.
He would understand that she cries for love.
He would know that Jamaal left her for a chance at life
 When she told him.
And that that day Garry showed up and consoled her
In the deepest way possible
And that deep connection faded
 When she told him,
Then Derek showed up promising to take them all and start a home,
Until she told him too.

He would understand that she was making fares long before she started on these streets.
Paying the dear price of her soul to feed her soul which she lost to Jamaal’s hands,
Way before the time she had begun to tell.
He would understand and he would cry too.

But instead of understanding and knowing,
 He drinks her tears to quench
His thirst.
He drinks her tears
To revive himself from the desert that is his day at the office.
He drinks her tears and eats her away
Every time.

What price can she be paid for her soul?
Mere dollars and cents for an hour of her time?
They both know they rob each other.
He pays to feel a soul’s touch his with scanty change.
She knows she has no soul to give him in exchange.

See them in their droves.
Like brute beasts borrowing time,
Their tie clips glistening in the moonlight;
Their jackets offering temporary warmth to the daughters of mammon as they climb

Climb her and break her branches.
Rip her leaves away like autumn.
Remind her that the cold is near.
Make her forget that she is a cedar

I see them every night.
The corpse revival on every corner in the city
Dead men walking, dead men driving, dead men still dying
Those whose thirsts never quench,
Whose hungers only grow
And whose cries only get louder and sharper.

I think of the unhappy people they are;
The unhappy girl that was trapped in the daughter I had become.
I see how the files have been piled on his heart and have made it heavy.
How her face has been snatched from her as she had nothing to give him for his money.
The scorners’ eyes as they salvage their last ounce respect they possess to keep a straight face.
 I see them and cry because I know that every daughter of mammon is lost among the jeans.
I cry because they are still people,
But broken ones.
I cry because the hungry men will never find peace
But shall always steal it from someone else.
I cry for my sisters remembering how I could have been if it wasn’t for the life
That found me.
I still try to find them.
Hunger no more.
Thirst no more.
Cry no more.
Yes, you have been called many things by many people.
But you shall be called loved by one.