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...
This world is crowded with borrowed souls,
Faces that promise, hearts that pretend,
You keep mending invisible holes
For damage you never did intend.
You carry guilt that was never yours,
Repairing cracks you didn’t make,
While those who benefit from your wars
Smile softly as they take and take.
Do not give your heart without a gate,
Nor pour your soul where care is thin,
Some see kindness not as fate,
But as a weakness to step in.
In a cruel world, goodness bleeds fast,
Mercy is mocked, loyalty drained,
Not every bond is meant to last,
Not every tear should be sustained.
Release your loyalty from those
Who never ask how you survive,
Turn quietly toward those who chose
To never check if you’re alive.
Move forward; leave the weight behind,
Choose peace, not endless sacrifice,
Protect your heart, reclaim your mind,
And happiness will be your prize.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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