Ballad of a Bad Man

Whatever reigns where Seraphim flame and soar,
I beg the, judge not my hand, but what it labored for.
No blade was drawn, but wrath still did command,
The tears that yearned to guide my violent hand.

And I, God help me struck not from hate,
But with love inflamed, to seal another's fate.
The blood ran hot. It chilled my chest;
My brother lived. I found no rest.

Weep not for the man who's breath I broke,
But for the law in me, who felt the stroke.
A line I swore I'd never cross,
Shattered by a single toss.

Is this my flaw? Not lust, not prideful thrill,
But mercy's specter, averted by unconscious will?
Lord of grace, of earth, of sea, of sky,
May love lay scourge to Logos, and justify?

Speak not to me now, let silence fan the flame,
For I must bear the weight of a blood-soaked mane.
One soul, now wears the twisted martyrant brand,
Another, now damned for salting mercy’s land.