The Sting of Mercy

Pitifully lay poor king Terrence

His city walls demolished, overrun by great menace.

Regardless this cataclysm, and horrific event,

Twas not desolation that caused his lament.

But the man standing over him, brandishing steel,

One he’d betrayed, left scraping at his heel.

But roles now reversed and tables turned,

The man whose wife Terrence stole, whose kingdom he’d burned,

Swung and struck with his blade.

Yet Terrence looked up, unharmed and unfeigned.

This man with every justification for hate,

Departed solemnly, leaving Terrence his own fate.

Terrence sat in agony, kingdom unmade,

With mercy’s sting worse than any blade.