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...
Teach them first to love the light,
Before the world explains the dark,
Place a book within their hands,
And hope within their hearts to spark.
Education is not just a class,
Or chalk that fades from classroom walls,
It’s how to think, how to stand firm,
How to rise again when life calls.
Groom them with patience, truth, and time,
With listening ears and guiding hands,
Show them that effort shapes their path,
And dreams are built where discipline stands.
Tell them failure is not the end,
But a lesson wearing disguise,
Teach them to question, learn, and grow,
To see the world with open eyes.
For tomorrow waits on what we plant,
In quiet moments, day by day,
A seed of knowledge, deeply sown,
Will always find its way.
When life turns good, and doors unfold,
They’ll walk through strong, prepared, and wise,
Carrying lessons from your love,
That’s parenthood—no greater prize.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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