To show them mercy, I become a fiend,

  A curse upon my own, by kindness sworn

  Yet contrite sorrow cuts through thickest rind

  And hollows out my hallowed soul in scorn.

  Such dulcet words for cloying, bitter thing.

  For honey-laced ash inside ear it pours.

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  As words of rust and ruin with worry sing,

  From inside, they are veil not moat heart roars.

  Like whetstone, grace and duty sharp the pain,

  To make me spare the foe that slay my kin.

  Each sip, each grain is marked with blooded name,

  The choice of poison left for me like sin.

  The world is vaster than two ends of knife,

  My soul is worth more than this bitter strife.