Michael (not pity, but mercy)


You spoke into the inmost parts of me,

Picked up all the ugly pieces no one else could see.

And you looked at me,

Eyes filled with, not pity, but mercy.

You breathed life into the darkest parts of me,

Tore apart the man I refused to let them see,

Eyes spilling over with, not pity, but mercy.

Oh God, like David dancing through the streets, a man who would soon know your wrath better than anybody, better than me. I want to be free, can you set me free? Like the fire that builds in the belly of the beast. Like the words springing forth from your prophets resounding at the feast, restoration. Freedom’s song going on and on and on. Mercy’s symphony ringing brazenly, vividly, uninhibited, cycling through my head.

I swear, the victim in me is dead,

crucified with Christ,

That only the loving gaze of a man acquainted with grief can remedy.

He looked at me with,

Not pity, but mercy.

And then he set me                free.


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