I spoke with the downtrodden,
And in my haste to satisfy my appetite,
I fed on his hurt.
Then I heard his cry for help,
and my pace lessened.
I offered a word of hope,
So he said.
Can a tree bear fruit both rotten and sweet?
Listen, hurt soul:
Listen for hope,
But be wary of all.
You are not lost forever,
That is the lie.
Look to what transcends,
Listen to what rings true,
And discard the rest as noise,
The rust of corruption
Which makes purity rare.
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