The single most miscalculation I made
Across these almost seventy-eight years,
Was to think intellect could forge a blade
Sharper than mercy, gentler than tears.

I once believed that wisdom’s fire
Could light the way through shadowed lands,
That reason’s climb would take me higher,
Beyond the need for softer hands.

But the head, though strong, cannot replace
The heart that bends, the soul that gives.
For mercy flows with boundless grace,
And through such love, the spirit lives.

In chasing truth, I overlooked
The simple kindness I received,
And only now, with pages booked,
Do I see where I was deceived.

Mercy mends where logic fractures,
Grace rebuilds where reason fails.
Love sustains through all life’s chapters,
When intellect’s bright flame pales.

So as I near the twilight’s gleam,
I cherish mercy’s warm embrace,
And walk with grace, my final theme
The wisest path, the truest place.

Created by
MarkWaldrop