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When Your Hands Are Empty #poemofhope #faithpoetry #spokenwordpoetry

There will be a season when you have done all you know to do and still, nothing. No answer at the door. No sudden change. No sign in the sky telling you that tomorrow will be kinder. Just you, your unanswered prayer, and the strange silence that makes you question whether God is still listening. He is. Do not mistake silence for absence. Some of God's deepest work happens without making a sound. Roots grow in darkness. Healing happens beneath skin. Morning begins long before the window knows there is light. And somewhere beyond what you can see, your life is being moved by hands you cannot follow. So do not abandon your faith because you cannot trace God's footsteps. You were never promised a clear view. You were given enough light for the next step. Take it. Even if your knees shake. Even if your heart has questions your mouth is afraid to ask. Take it. Faith is not a life without uncertainty. It is waking up with uncertainty beside you and refusing to let it choose your direc...
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Before I Was Left #poem #sadpoetry

Life once fit easily in my hands,
light as laughter,
sweet as days that didn’t ask questions.
Existing was simple then—
friends came without effort,
joy didn’t need explaining.

Time moved gently.
I belonged without proving it.
I was known.

Then something shifted.
Quietly at first.
A job lost its grip on me,
and with it went structure,
purpose,
the small dignity of routine.

Life became heavier, unfamiliar.
Doors closed without noise,
messages stopped arriving,
chairs emptied around me.
People faded—
not with anger,
just absence.

Even family grew distant,
as if my struggle made me
harder to recognize.
Love thinned.
Silence grew bold.

Now I stand in rooms
echoing with who I used to be,
feeling like someone
new to the world,
someone without history.

I am alone
in a way that feels ancient,
as if I arrived here
without witnesses,
without roots.

Yet I remember—
how life once tasted sweet,
how ease once found me.
And maybe memory itself
is proof
that I was not always invisible,
that I have not always been alone.

I am still here,
holding what’s left of myself,
waiting—
not for the past to return,
but for life to learn my name again.


© 2025 Gloria Penelope

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