Wings of Mercy

A poem about fear, remorse, and divine mercy, where weapons of guilt transform into wings of strength. It’s a journey from self-punishment to self-forgiveness, guided by love and inner awakening.

Wings of Mercy

I ran through shadows, soft and wild,
with silent screams and a weeping child
tucked somewhere deep inside my chest-
a haunted heart that never rests.

Two figures followed, blades in hand,
the kind that circle like a brand.
Their edges sang a bitter tune
beneath the branches of a moon.

A woman stood, her voice a given care, 
she tried to hold me in the air,
but still they found me- cold, afraid - 
and drove me through the dark cascade.

Inside the car, the silence swelled.
I held the blade that once rebelled.
Behind the driver, hand like glass,
I struck- but wept with every pass.

And when I broke, gave him the knife,
to trade his death for loss of life,
I thought I’d offered my last breath - 
but he chose love instead of death.

He kissed my tears and touched my face,
and laid the weapon into grace.
And from my back, where fear once clung,
two wings of sharpened silver sprung.

They spread like halos in the blue,
not forged for war, but something true.
They were the blades once gripped in fright,
now turned to wings that hold me tight.

From weapons born of fear and guilt,
a strength arose from what I built.
No longer tools to strike or run-
but what I fly with, toward the sun.

I heard it then - beyond the tide,
a whisper from the other side:
"You are not what you have done,
but who you choose to still become."

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There is a strength in remorse - for those we’ve hurt deserve at least
a sign that they matter more than the pain they were given.

Let sorry be a warmth, not a weight.