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 family is not built of walls,
But hands that hold through rise and fall.
In quiet rooms and crowded days,
Love learns a thousand patient ways.
Their bond is a strength you cannot see,
Yet it carries you relentlessly.
When courage shakes, and hope feels thin,
Family is where you begin again within.
They teach the art of standing tall,
Of sharing bread, of heeding the call.
Of lifting one when one must fall,
No victory alone is all.
In trust, they plant enduring seeds,
In shared values and selfless deeds.
A good life grows where kindness stays,
And work walks proudly with honest ways.
Wealth is not just counted in gold,
But stories shared and lessons told.
In laughter, faith, and open hearts,
That’s where a family’s fortune starts.
For when a home is built on care,
On truth, on courage, on repair,
Its riches echo, deep and wide—
A legacy no time can hide.
So cherish roots that hold you strong,
They are the wealth you pass along.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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