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When Your Hands Are Empty #poemofhope #faithpoetry #spokenwordpoetry

There will be a season when you have done all you know to do and still, nothing. No answer at the door. No sudden change. No sign in the sky telling you that tomorrow will be kinder. Just you, your unanswered prayer, and the strange silence that makes you question whether God is still listening. He is. Do not mistake silence for absence. Some of God's deepest work happens without making a sound. Roots grow in darkness. Healing happens beneath skin. Morning begins long before the window knows there is light. And somewhere beyond what you can see, your life is being moved by hands you cannot follow. So do not abandon your faith because you cannot trace God's footsteps. You were never promised a clear view. You were given enough light for the next step. Take it. Even if your knees shake. Even if your heart has questions your mouth is afraid to ask. Take it. Faith is not a life without uncertainty. It is waking up with uncertainty beside you and refusing to let it choose your direc...
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Voices of the Wild and the Unjust #poem #naturepoetry

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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