There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
He refused the name of family man,
Though vows lay warm upon his hand,
A house stood waiting for his truth,
While he chased shadows, unplanned.
He wore innocence like morning light,
Soft words, a harmless face,
But rot lived deep within his core
A rotten potato in a polished case.
Women passed like pages torn,
Used, discarded, left behind,
He treated hearts like empty cups,
Never tasting the love inside.
A soulless man with vacant eyes,
No conscience knocking at his door,
Cruelty stitched beneath his skin,
A wolf’s intent in a sheep’s robe worn.
He laughed at consequences unseen,
Believed his steps would never fall,
Mistook silence for forgiveness,
Mistook delay for no justice at all.
Then demise came—quiet, swift, unplanned,
Not with thunder, not with fame,
But with loss that stripped his comfort bare,
And mirrors that whispered his name.
Wealth slipped through his careless hands,
Troubles gathered like storm-fed seas,
The throne he built on borrowed lies
Collapsed beneath neglected knees.
Now he stands where truth is loud,
Where masks no longer fit the face,
Learning too late that every heart betrayed
Leaves a debt no time can erase.
Such is the end of hollow men,
Who saw in darkness, blind to cost
When love is trashed, and vows are burned,
Even riches cannot replace what’s lost.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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