Fragments of Mercy

I hold a cracked bead, rough in my palm,

words like water caught, no soothing balm.

You shared your truth, laid bare like a wound,

and my tongue tangled tight, in silence marooned.

Each tear, a question, I felt, but I froze,

instead of holding you close, I suppose,

your hurt stitched into the air, quietly hung,

between the lines we never dared to have sung.