Mercy

By Charlotte Cope, 2nd Year

Object No. 65 King William's gauntlets, c.1690
National Museum Decorative Arts & History

There he stood,

his face showing no mercy,

just like the father he never knew,

the golden stitched gauntlets kissed either side of my face,

they were just tossed aside,

like the sun had just been thrown in a corner,

this was him challenging me,

he drew his sword out with pride.

 

It seemed so wrong,

them on the floor whilst I stood tall,

however they were only abiding by the rules of their master,

even though their master was abiding by no rules but his own.

 

The clink of my peasant sword against his,

the sweat off his brow falling to the floor,

he drew blood from my arm,

using his uncontrolable power,

his bare gloveless hands,

they showed no mercy.

 

My knees were shaking,

my hands throbing,

my arms slowly breaking.

 

The wrinkled body of mine had taken its last breath,

beside the worthless gloves which showed more purpose than I,

their embroided pattern like a ripple going through a calm silent lake,

the cuffs like a lilly laying on a river bed,

finally all went black,

my lake had finally been silenced.

 

 

 

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