Mercury

By Michelle Rochniak

I raise my ancient staff up to

The heavens and invoke the name of Mercury.

My messages of tolerance ring through

The air, and I lie down on seafoam meadows.

But the ground breaks away, and I am left with

Clumps of dirt and grass falling by my face.

Unforgiving world, you will never let me rest after

I snap my heartstrings and procure my soul.

Does no one suffer as I do?

.

To be a rocky planet circling close around the sun.

How simple life would be with just a resident of one.

.

My phone displays masses of

Messengers, ready to shout their

Ideas to the world, ready to extend their

Golden caducei to the rest of the cobalt globe.

Do I dare extend mine?

.

I find myself revolving, so involved with this great orb,

Yet just when I am safe, there is a hit I must absorb.

.

But contrary to popular belief, the caduceus does not

Heal. It does not

Remedy. It does not

Alleviate. It merely stays at the side of someone who

Tells a story that must be heard.

Am I important enough to speak?

.

This does not seem to be the life of safety I once thought.

I’m not the Sun’s protector; oh, what silly lies I bought.

.

But the golden snakes wrapped around the

Central pole hiss of kindness, not malice.

But the wings at the top descend from the

Sandals of a copper god, sprinting to deliver the news.

But the caduceus represents the storytelling spirit of a

Hand on your shoulder as you walk into Hades.

Am I not who I say I am?

.

They say, “Do not shoot the messenger,”

But Mercury sustains shots from

Meteorites every day.

Michelle is an intern and contributing author with the Heartland Society – learn more about her.

Published by HLWW Featured Author

Featured Author of the Heartland Society of Women Writers

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