Mercy came knocking once, a pale wanderer draped in dawn, with weary eyes and gentle hands, carrying no sword, only the burden of understanding. But the wicked knew not her face. Their hearts were citadels of stone, where compassion died unnamed and every wound became a weapon. They barred the gates. For mercy is a stranger in the hearts of the wicked. She walks their halls unseen, a ghost among shadows, whispering of forgiveness to ears that worship vengeance. They drink from poisoned wells and call bitterness wisdom. They sharpen grief into blades and wear cruelty like a crown. Where mercy offers a bridge, they build a wall. Where mercy kneels, they strike. And so she leaves quietly, taking her light with her, while darkness settles deeper into chambers already cold. The wicked do not fear mercy, they fear what mercy reveals: that beneath their iron masks, beneath their kingdoms of pride, beneath the ruins they call strength, there lives a trembling truth they dare not face. For merc...
Your heart lives in misery,
heavy with wishes you never stop carrying—
wishing you had what others call enough,
wishing blessings didn’t feel so far away.
At times, it feels like being a cursed person,
marked by fate before you learned how to speak.
But deep down, you know the truth:
No curse followed you into this world.
You were born into poverty,
into hands that were loving but empty,
into parents who had little
except the will to survive.
You fight to rise from where you began,
clawing toward a better life
with tired hope and shaking strength.
Some days, you feel lost and powerless,
like the ground refuses to hold you.
Some days, you want to run—
not away from life,
but toward peace.
Even family turns its back,
even friends disappear,
because you have nothing to offer
but honesty and struggle.
Life grows heavier, more unbearable,
a weight that presses on your chest.
You want to scream,
yet your voice dissolves into silence,
and every thought of poverty
fills your eyes with unfallen tears.
Remember this—
It is a storm, and storms do not stay.
Clouds may darken your days,
but they are always passing.
One day, your life will change,
and your smile will come without pain.
You will overcome every obstacle.
When it rains, it stops
to give the sun space to breathe.
Even when the sun hides
inside the darkest clouds,
those clouds never remain forever.
They move on.
And then—
The sun shines.
You will shine one day.
Like the sun,
You will shine.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
Comments