Mercy & Her Sword

My heart aches in the face of hatred.
There is a time for rage – a necessity for violence.
But even when I, too, raise discord, I will not praise the sword.

I may speak with acidity, perhaps callous humour,
yet my heart will not turn to stone.

I will not lose my humanity.
I will not let their hatred defeat me.
My life, my love, my place in this world
means more than some maggot with a mic.

I do not fraternise with false niceties,
but I will not lose my heart.

I will not become the picture
they so viciously try to paint.
If I raise the sword, it is with mercy
and I pray the same is granted upon me.

The patterns of time scream torturous warning.
I brace, armed with reason,
And fire in my blood.

This time is wicked, and hatred can be vile…
yet song, and wonder, and a child’s laugh
will not allow me
to reciprocate such cruelty.