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...
In the heart of the forest, where silence speaks,
Lions walk softly on sunlit creeks.
Elephants remember every scar,
Their lives were shaped gently by land and star.
The eagle rides on the breath of the sky,
Seeing truths no ground-bound eye can deny.
The wolf moves with loyalty, fierce yet fair,
Bound by respect for the pack they share.
Nature teaches without written law,
Balance and survival, wonder and awe.
Each creature takes only what it must,
Living by instinct, not hunger for dust.
Yet beyond the wild, in the cities of stone,
Walks a person whose heart has grown cold as bone.
They rise on the backs of unheard cries,
Trading compassion for power and lies.
They see not the pain in another’s face,
Only mirrors reflecting their own embrace.
Where animals share, this soul divides,
Building walls from wounded lives.
The wild remains honest, brutal yet true,
Life and death in a cycle we all pass through.
But injustice is chosen, crafted by hand,
A wound upon soul, not nature or land.
Perhaps one day, beneath open skies,
That person will learn from the wild’s quiet eyes—
That fairness is strength, not loss or fear,
And life grows richer when justice lives here.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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