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Love's Dark Reflection #lovepoetry #poetrydaily #poemaday

Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
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Born Alone, turned into a slave #sadpoetry #poem

Born alone, she entered a silent world,
An orphaned cry swallowed by dust and fate.
Her mother’s warmth was buried too soon,
Left behind in the hands of cruelty,
Where love was rationed and mercy unknown.

She wears happiness like borrowed skin,
A fragile disguise stitched with forced smiles.
Her laughter is an echo she learned to fake,
While her heart bleeds quietly,
Layered with scars no one asks to see.

Each day is a sentence without a crime,
Hands that serve, knees that bend,
A life mistaken for duty,
A child turned servant,
A soul chained to daily torture and invisible slavery.

At night, she whispers dreams to the dark,
Dreams of freedom that tremble but refuse to die.
She longs to breathe without fear,
To exist without apology,
To live beyond survival.

What a world she’s living in.
One that tests the innocent,
That hardens hearts and calls it normal.
Yet somewhere within her wounded chest,
Hope still stirs…
Quiet, stubborn, and waiting to be free.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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