the streets are cracked, lives splintered,
we crawl through glass, hearts blistered,
but mercy leans close, softens edges,
a whisper in the storm we carry.
pain stains skin, ghosts in mirrors,
mistakes hang like rusted chains,
but mercy is oil to the door,
it slides open where shame locks shut.
love’s hands reach through our ruts,
God’s breath speaks where silence chokes,
mercy kneels by the gutters we make,
and pulls us wincing into light.
we, battered pilgrims, carrying broken buckets,
tilt them to spill mercy on others,
unworthy hands passing oceans of hope,
liberation from shadows we\'ve long fought.