Grace

Filth covers her face
  dirt and grime are found beneath her fingernails
Her clothes are tattered and torn
  with stains of debauchery
Pride is written in scars across her heart
  while selfishness is the fabric of her clothing

She stands in front of the crowd of demons for a price

       A High Price

Her head is lifted as if she is worth a thousand,
       or two
But the multitude below dirty and bruised,
      snatch and struggle
      seizing her for free
      tearing her garments
      and her heart
                  to pieces

She cannot fight


Racing through the muck and debauchery
      she sees Him, in white
combatting his way through the horde

        To Save Her.


Through the mud and dust he is
        unrecognizable to her

He reaches her
  and surrounds her with his Love
Pulling her from the pit

She is safe - but he is beaten, bruised,
  scarred, and stabbed
Blood streams from his face
  From his hands
  From his feet
  From his side
His white robe, now undistinguishable
  from its surroundings

But with his last breathe
She is lifted to safety, a beautiful paradise
       while he is dragged down to the valley

Shadows of death are dancing throughout the pit
       around her savior

This jubilee halts with a crack of thunder
Colors change
The valley becomes a mountain
The dead become flowers
The dirt becomes beauty
And there he stands at the peak
With his arms stretched out for her

And She Remembers

As she runs, the filth is falling
  the scars of pride are vanishing
  and herself is forgotten
Instead she wears the white gown
He purchased for her

And He stands there
  Her Husband
  Her Bridegroom