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...
I stand at the door of a newborn year,
With yesterday’s dust on my weary shoes,
Carrying dreams I refused to release,
And lessons I never again will lose.
I ask for a wiser, calmer mind,
One that chooses peace before pride,
A brain that thinks beyond the moment,
And sees the truth where shadows hide.
I wish for strength when roads feel long,
For courage when fear calls my name,
The will to rise after every fall,
And walk through fire without shame.
May my plans find roots in patience,
May my efforts speak louder than prayer,
Let discipline guide my quiet steps,
While hope reminds me why I care.
In this new year, let growth be slow,
But honest, deep, and real to the core,
Not just a change of dates and days,
But a better life than the one before.
I enter this year with open hands,
Not demanding, yet ready to try,
Believing that with wisdom, strength, and faith,
I can shape a life that dares to fly.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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