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...
What a year I carried on my back, Heavy as stone, slow as pain, Days stretched longer than hope itself, Nights whispered failure again and again. Everything went wrong, one by one, As if the world rehearsed my fall, Setbacks lined the road like scars, And mercy never came at all. I felt like karma knew my name, Calling me out for crimes unknown, Punishing me without a trial, Leaving me to stand alone. What a year—if it was a year at all, Or just a chapter soaked in grief, Not destiny, not God’s desire, Just life testing my belief. I questioned the meaning behind the pain, Wondered what lesson I failed to see, Asked the sky in quiet moments, “Why did this all come to me?” But now I stand at a gentler door, A new year breathing, clean and wide, Carrying hope I almost lost, Still bruised, yet not denied. Maybe—just maybe—a new year will heal me, Bring light where shadows used to stay, Turn every loss into a seed, And teach my heart how to rise again, not break, but stay. I enter so...