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 ...
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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