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...
My tears come out uninvited,
Born from distress, from buried pain.
From memories that never rested,
From trauma whispering my name.
I ask myself a thousand questions,
But answers never seem to stay.
Questioning feels empty, useless—
I cannot turn time back its way.
Years are walking past me slowly,
Months dissolve into the air.
Days grow tired, hours weaken,
Minutes vanish unaware.
Nothing changes, yet time moves on,
A cruel and steady stream.
I stand still while the world keeps going,
Trapped inside a broken dream.
Still, I lift my eyes in silence
To the Almighty up above.
Faith is all I have to hold now,
Hope stitched gently into love.
Even when my tears keep falling,
Even when my strength feels gone,
I believe God sees my breaking,
Hears my quiet, wordless song.
So let me cry, but not surrender.
Let me ache, but not despair.
For in my tears, I keep believing—
God is working, even when I lost hope.
© 2025 Gloria Penelope
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