Another stunning poem from the so deeply talented Feathered Sleep reminding us how much mercy soothes deep wounds.
Mercy is an unexpected hand, steadying
Mercy feels like rain
Mercy hurts as laughter will, the first time you smile again
Mercy is a series of white flowers, forging out of bleached, dry grass
Mercy is a silver arrow, piercing resistance
Mercy is the face you need to claim, before all air is lost
Mercy is the final flood, a lost song, a forgotten book, page 456, line 34
Mercy is your imperfectly knit blanket over my shoulders, smelling of bonfire wood, shivering against wolf pelt, in necklace of thorns
We pull and we pull
Our teeth, our reach, our ankles
Until dearticulated and reborn, pass on our baton of water
Mercy is a legacy
A line in land, seen from air
The silken scar, cut across suntanned throat
Mercy is hearing them again, whether a moment or year since, beholding under solvent skies
The memory of love, held too…
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