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...
We gather again beneath December lights,
Same chairs, same room, same practiced cheer,
Laughter rehearsed like an old carol
That everyone knows, but no one feels.
Hugs are exchanged like obligations,
Warm on the outside, cold within,
Eyes smile first, then mouths follow,
While hearts stay carefully hidden.
The table is full, yet something starves—
Truth waits outside with the night air,
Jealousy sits quietly between plates,
Hatred dressed up as polite care.
Compliments sharpened with quiet comparison,
Success weighed, failure displayed,
Every story told to outshine another,
Every silence is carefully staged.
We call it family, we call it tradition,
Year after year, we return the same,
Dragging old wounds through tinsel and candles,
Renaming resentment as holiday flame.
By midnight, masks grow heavy on faces,
The smiles crack but never fall,
We promise love, we promise visits,
Then leave with nothing settled at all.
And so it repeats—another December,
Another gathering, another disguise,
Until Christmas comes knocking again,
And we meet once more
With the same fake smiles
And the same quiet lies.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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