Under the Weight

while sitting under the weight

            of slights real or imagined

i noticed the scenery never changed

unless you count the loss of color

leaves on slate trees, gray like

elderly skin, and just as thin

as mine

flutter about this patch of ground

i chose to sit upon

what i believed i must trust

            was a bust.

            and my soul

turned red with rust.

so i dig a hole in the shade  

to bury this picture of you

Merciful

sticks and stones do what they do

while your words cut

like a nick while shaving

and blood circles the drain

you claim your Jesus

with lips bearing false witness

and i -

i have done the same

“blessed are the merciful”

i have not felt blessed since…

well, my memory fails me…

let us remember

together

what mercy means

as if this was the 4^th day