Mercy on Us, Survivors

A Year of Sonnets — 014/365

Photo by thom masat on Unsplash

We do not try for love; love is a song
a mile above the sharpest notes we ken.
Instead, we try to string our light along,
to keep our breathing stable where and when
the world falls from our feet, we lose our place
in normal space and time, our spirits rise
and we are kept by golden-threaded Grace
and her alone. She’d welcome our demise
as soon as save us. Pray forgive our grief:
we lose ourselves a little more each time,
our cast-iron hearts be stretched beyond belief.
We are diminished. Pardon us our crimes,
our selfish hearts that struggle here to stay,
these open wounds we bind throughout the days.