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...
A fresh fruit rests in the palm of the day,
Washed by the sun, simple, bright, and whole,
It naturally feeds the body,
Just as calm ideas nourish the soul.
A fresh mind ripens like orchards in spring,
Clear of the bruises of worry and doubt,
From it, new thoughts and solutions will triumph,
Wisdom grows strong when the noise is shut out.
Rotten thoughts linger like fruit left too long,
Heavy with bitterness, stale with regret,
But a fresh mind stays humble, patient, and strong,
Ready to learn, to forgive, to reset.
As fruit gives strength and restores our breath,
A clear mind sharpens our vision and way,
It teaches us balance, kindness, and depth,
And lights the path for decisions we weigh.
So tend to your thoughts like a well-kept tree,
Let rest, truth, and curiosity guide,
For a fresh mind, like fruit, sets wisdom free,
And helps us grow gently from the inside.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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