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...
In the heart of the poorest African villages
and in forgotten corners of the world
life rises heavier than we imagine,
harder than words we use from comfort.
There live children
who have never known a school bell,
never traced letters on a clean page,
never sat beneath a roof
built for learning and hope.
They grow where survival is the syllabus,
where hunger teaches first,
where water is carried before dreams,
and childhood ends early
without anyone calling it a loss.
They do not know the promise of a good life,
not because they lack ability,
but because opportunity never found their path.
Talent sleeps in dust,
genius walks barefoot,
potential is buried beneath routine.
Even now—
in this modern world of screens and satellites—
These children remain unseen, unheard,
as if progress forgot to knock on their doors.
Who knows what they were meant to become?
Doctors without books,
engineers without tools,
leaders without classrooms,
minds meant to heal and build the future.
If only they were shown technology,
if only education reached their hands,
The world would change
quietly, powerfully, forever.
God, have mercy and locate them.
Find them in the valleys and remote roads.
Touch their lives with light,
open doors where walls stand,
turn forgotten beginnings
into hopeful tomorrows.
Let no child’s destiny
expire unseen.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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