Gold leaves,
Cold light,
A saint stood still
Against the night

Gold leaves,
No grace,
Every sin
Remembers a face

They brought her from the chapel door
With ashes in her hair
The village smoked behind the hills,
The king sat crowned in prayer

He said, “The holy must forgive,
The wounded must be mild
Let mercy wash the red away,
Be gentle, little child”

But she had seen the orchard burn,
The cradle split in two
She smelled the bread turned black with smoke,
She knew what mercy knew

Her hands were clean, her knees were bruised,
Her voice was almost gone
But when they asked her to forgive,
She would not bow at dawn

O saint who would not forgive,
Hold the wound and let it live
Not every scar is asking to be healed

O saint who would not forgive,
Let the golden branches give
A mirror no king can ever shield

If heaven calls forgetting grace,
Turn your eyes and name the place
Where every burning house is written still

O saint who would not forgive,
Some truths are kept because they will

Beneath the Lachryma,
She wept but did not yield
Her tears fell hot upon the root
Like sparks across a field

By morning, every branch was bright
With leaves of hammered gold
But none who touched their shining skin
Could keep their secrets cold

The butcher saw his hidden knife,
The priest his silent lie
The soldier saw the little hands
He left beneath the sky

The king reached out with jeweled gloves
And laughed before the crowd
But in the leaf, he saw his throne
Built from a child’s shroud

Not pardon,
But memory
Not mercy,
But memory

Not silence,
But memory
The root drinks tears,
The leaves set free

He tore the golden branches down,
He called the saint unclean
Yet every leaf he crushed to dust
Remembered what had been

They built no shrine for easy peace,
They built it out of fear
For every ruler passing through
Felt judgment drawing near

No crown was placed upon a head
Without one withered leaf
Laid beside the velvet throne
Like gold disguised as grief

The old ones taught the children well:
“Do not be quick to bless
The mouth that asks forgiveness
Before it will confess”

They called her cruel
They called her proud
They called her heart a locked church door

But she said:

“I do not hate the hand that burns
I remember the house
I remember the names
I remember the smoke

And if your mercy needs my silence,
then your mercy is a throne.”

Some say she vanished in the north,
Where black pines bend and moan
Some say the tree bent down for her
And made her grief its own

But when a tyrant lifts his cup,
Or speaks of peace too soon
A golden leaf will turn in wind
Though there is not a moon

And all who see its shining face
Will know what waits beneath:
Not vengeance with a flaming sword,
But memory with teeth

O saint who would not forgive,
Hold the wound and let it live
Not every scar is asking to be healed

O saint who would not forgive,
Let the golden branches give
A mirror no king can ever shield

If heaven calls forgetting grace,
Turn your eyes and name the place
Where every burning house is written still

O saint who would not forgive,
Some truths are kept because they will

O saint who would not forgive,
Bless the ones who still relive
The night the world demanded they be kind

O saint who would not forgive,
May the golden branches give
A name to every grief they tried to blind

Gold leaves,
Cold light,
No king sleeps clean
Beneath their sight

Gold leaves,
No release,
Memory is not
The enemy of peace