Mercy

Mercy, a quiet tide,
washes the harshest stone,
softening the edge of pride
until the heart beats alone.

It lingers in the sigh of a mother,
the pause before a harsh word,
the gentle hand that lifts another
when the world feels blurred.

In courtrooms grey and streets austere,
it whispers, “Give another chance,”
a balm for wounds we hold so dear,
a quiet, steadfast glance.

So let us wear this tender grace,
not as a fleeting show,
but as the steady, humble face
that lets compassion flow.