a poem by Nekea Valentine

The hand of mercy released a soul cry from the depths of my bowels,

A cry that had long been entangled in webs of pain and disillusionment,

Impeded by a heart that had been hardened by wickedness and deceit,

Shaped and morphed into dark shades of deformity,

But mercy,

With its relentless pursuit,

Poured down on me like raindrops of fire,

Until the very gaze into a flame of fire melted those Jericho walls,

Erected on false foundations, rooted in false identities,

Mercy, spared me,

And with its hand interweaved into every thread of my life, 

Moving seamlessly,  

Mercy reached out with its outstretched arm and upheld me,

Walls now decimated to rock,

Bowed down to the rock,

Steadied by the hand of mercy,

Now, faulty foundations,

Surrendered to salvation,

I stand on the rock, of ages,

Steadied by the hand of mercy,

I shall not be moved.

When I look into the eyes of mercy,

And trust it’s bountiful, limitless, fullness that overflows, 

I go deeper into the depths of mercy,

With righteousness that cannot be shaken,

It is now my firm foundation,

Solidified as I draw nigh,

I look into the eyes of mercy,

Tender and new every morning before the dawn of the day breaks,

Mercy awaits,

To show itself sanctioned for what I cannot do without the hand of mercy,

Burdens that threaten to crush but oh no, mercy rushes in with the strength to sustain me,

Uplift me,

Redefine me,

And now my heart has eyes that can see that it is His mercy,

And my ears hear the whispers of purity infused with mercy,

Then and now, now and then, before it begins, before it ends,

It was and always is, 

His mercy.