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...
They fell where strength could not remain,
A trembling heart in fragile skin,
Each breath a whisper edged with pain,
A losing fight they couldn’t win.
The dawn arrived without a name,
Tomorrow felt too far, too thin,
Hope flickered like a dying flame,
While night kept closing further in.
The body wore its tired cries,
The soul lay low, worn through with fear,
Faith blurred behind exhausted eyes,
Yet heaven still was drawing near.
For mercy walks where voices fail,
And power moves where none can see,
God reached into the breaking veil
And spoke the word that sets us free.
Life rushed back into weary veins,
Light stitched the torn and shattered frame,
What pain had claimed, He now reclaimed,
What death had named, He could not claim.
The heart once pounding out of time
Now sings within a steadier chest,
A pulse aligned with grace divine,
A soul returned to holy rest.
Gratitude became their daily song,
Their breath a prayer, their steps His praise,
In all they did, to Him belonged
Each moment of their numbered days.
They tell of grace that found them there,
Of goodness born where hope was gone,
A living voice, an answered prayer,
Declaring all the Lord has done.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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