Malice & Mercy • The Hourglass

Index

This archive is for my poems, which are posted every so often — whenever I feel a surge of inspiration. The newest poems are posted at the top of the page, the oldest at the bottom, hence the index above; pressing on the name of any poem takes you straight there. Some are collections of poems that go together to tell a story. If you enjoy, let me know here!

Poem Archive – Malice & Mercy, The Hourglass, and Original Poetry by George Vale

Malice & Mercy

February 2025

Malice

She is my hunger, she is my craving.

Only one outcome can arise.

Burdened by emotion, a raging soul's raving.

Sheltered in smothering anxiety; my demise.

For I am Malice — and she — Mercy.

Inseparable together, we belong apart.

For she is my allergy — my controversy.

I can only fill so much of my heart.

Unyieldingly in vain, I sprint for freedom.

In fathomless forgiveness, she awaits in Eden.

Except all I feel is what I am.

When the world starts changing, I don't know if I can.

II

My lachrymose life lifts in Mercy's light.

Against all fate, she puts up a fight.

But in my fright I consider it blight.

How can I justify something so right?

I let myself drip with desire. Oh, such desire.

Ink of evil writhes at my feet, black as any abyss.

For as long as we stand together, love will adapt.

So too, spreads my curse of temptation.

Such passion, in words, cannot be defined.

Only in our bodies, do the answers lie.

The miasma of adoration ascends to I.

Vessels in the void, minds aligned.

I fear I may never be what you want me to be.

Mercy

The irresistible Malice that I long for toils with truth.

I dream of his dread deafened in my grasp — his peace.

Warding warmth and fleeting frost entwined in youth.

Our young hearts clasped — our love, unceased.

Anchored and bound by his flame, basking within his ray.

He offered three wishes once, unknowing he was they.

Unyielding, he stands; undeterred, I aspire.

We can only go higher when our rules burn in fire.

I ask him not for a year of glee.

I ask him not for a month of grace.

I merely ask of him a single day; simply to be.

One last cycle of Earth, Malice and me.

II

Malice knows not of his growth, of his aptitude to adapt.

My reflection in reverse is he, timelessly trapped.

I am willing to be anything the world wants me to be.

As long as we're together, nothing else could set me free.

Every shimmer of solace soothes my veins.

Each untamed undulation upends my pain.

He glimmers in thunder and I in rain.

At the summit of it all, together we'll remain.

So I ask of you, Malice: do you wait?

No matter your fear — no matter your hate.

No matter if it's against the universe's sake.

Will you see what, together, we can make?

Regardless, I will always be there for you.

The Hourglass

January 2025

The Poem of Time

The Poem of Time wakes in the ruins of a dream long passed.

Hungered and starved, reminiscing a realm once vast.

Yet lay the utopia's remains.

Did Time cause Change, or repeat the same?

The Poem of Time tries to climb from its fate.

A ghost between past and present carrying the weight.

It seeks ultimate demise beyond futurity's gates.

Forgetting there's nothing in the universe it cannot create.

The Poem of Time rhymes with resistance.

It drifts ahead in seek of existence.

No matter the struggle, it could make no distance.

Eternally bound to keep up the persistence.

The Poem of Change

Then beckoned the Poem of Change.

Where worlds collide, creating anew.

Where times dissolve, embedding as memories.

Where catalyst minds inspire, blooming in tandem.

The Poem fears not its change, but its weight in standing still.

Its weight in torching the future to warm its past.

Its weight in withering gardens and closing the gates.

Its weight in utterly irreversible, malicious and merciful Change.

Yet Change yields to the dreaded echos of Time.

And Time dreads its inevitable yield to Change.

Still, their contrast of life presents no crime.

The Poem of Paradox is born all the same.

The Poem of Paradox

Coincidence led the Poem of Paradox astray.

It clung to the thorns of tomorrow's sweet promise.

Totality foredained; the tapestry of fate fulfilled.

Though the Poem remained an idle identical of one heartbeat ago.

To desire both what was and what will be, to wrest the vestiges and weave them anew.

The more it craved, the more it surrendered.

Minor yet mighty is the paradox of poems.

Where all enthralled withdraw to their paradise, primed with purpose and possibility.

Perhaps ruins malnourished, perhaps dreams yet to flourish, none can say.

For Time, Change and Paradox will always stray their way.

They may collaborate with chaos to breathe old dreams.

But we must flip the hourglass, by all means.