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...
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
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