rescued souls

In alleys of shadow where hope has grown thin, Where fear paints the eyes of the forsaken and thin, I search for the broken, the lost, and the thrown, The ones no one wanted, left shivering alone. Their bodies bear witness to cruelty’s cruel art, Scars on their flesh and deep tremors in heart. But look closer, dear friend, past the matted fur coat, Their souls are bruised, not broken—still burning with hope. I lift them with gentle and trembling hands, Whisper soft promises no one understands. A warm bowl of food, a safe place to hide, A lap that stays steady, a love that won’t hide. They flinch at first touch, then slowly unfold, Like flowers at dawn after nights long and cold. The trembling grows softer, the fear starts to fade, As trust becomes something they no longer evade. We heal side by side, the rescuer and saved, Two wounded spirits no longer enslaved. My scars from old losses still ache in the night, But theirs teach me courage and stubborn pure light. Their souls are bruised, not broken—oh, hear it and know, They carry vast oceans of love still to show. Each tail wag that returns, each purr soft and deep, Is proof that the damaged can rise from the deep. So I keep on rescuing, one batte