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 ...
Fearful shadows cast across the floor,
Reflections born of deeds once done,
They stretch from corners you ignore,
Whispering truths you chose to outrun.
You stand afraid, yet turn away
From roads you walked with cruel intent,
Forgetting how your yesterday
Left scars where mercy should have bent.
Your thoughts tremble like dying flame,
Shaking, yet offering no relief,
For fear cannot be eased by blame,
Nor healed by silence or disbelief.
Only when you face those shadows alone,
Meet every fear without disguise,
Do the lessons of the past atone
And lift the veil before your eyes.
In courage found, not in retreat,
Your future takes a truer form
For God’s own plan is shaped when we meet
Our darkest selves, and choose reform.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments