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Love's Dark Reflection #lovepoetry #poetrydaily #poemaday

Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
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She Prays Without Shame #sadpoetry #poem

Once an innocent girl with open eyes,
Dreams folded neatly in her hand,
She believed the world was soft and fair,
A place that life would understand.

Then poverty spoke before her time,
With an unforgiving, urgent tone.
School doors closed, not by her choice,
But by hunger she had always known.

Books were traded for heavy days,
For early mornings, restless nights.
She learned to hustle far too young,
To turn survival into fights.

Now she stands as a single mother,
With a child pressed close to her heart.
Life was never fair to her,
It broke her before she could start.

Still, there is strength in her quiet walk,
In the way she carries pain.
She asks the world for nothing much—
Just mercy, not disdain.

To God she cries without her pride,
Without disguise, without shame.
“Rescue me in this cruel world,
Before my child learns the same.”

Her prayer is not a weakness shown,
But courage rising through despair.
For even broken faith still hopes,
And even tears are heard in prayer.


© 2025 Gloria Penelope

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