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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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How rivers forget their names #nature #naturepoetry @poem #poetry

The river ran with a restless heart,
Carrying stories from mountain stone.
It knew the curves of valleys well,
And sang in a voice it called its own.

The sea waited, wide and calm,
A breathing blue with salted skin.
It spoke in tides and moonlit pulls,
Inviting all the waters in.

But the ocean roared with deeper drums,
Ancient, vast, too large to plead.
It did not ask the river’s will,
It claimed all endings as its creed.

The river fought with foaming cries,
Clinging to banks it used to know.
“I have a name, a path, a past—
I am not ready to let go.”

The sea softened the river’s rage,
Mixed its sweet with salted tears.
Promised rest, not erasure,
A merging calm beyond its fears.

Yet the ocean opened its endless mouth,
Where borders blur, and currents twist.
There, the river lost its edges,
And became what it resisted.

No battle left a wound or scar,
No victor stood upon the sand.
Only a quiet transformation,
Where water learns to understand.

For every river meets this fate:
To travel far, then disappear.
Swallowed not by cruelty or war,
But by something vast, sincere, and near.

And in that conflict without sound,
Where endings look like rebirth’s face,
The river dies to be everywhere—
A small life claimed by endless space. 🌊


© 2025 Gloria Penelope

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