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 ...
That cruel act, you called it small,
A moment passed, a careless flame,
You walked away, stood tall, unbent,
Unknowingly, someone wept because of you.
You acted as if you did not hear their midnight cry,
Nor see the tear you left behind,
But sorrow learns the shape of guilt
And follows closely, and grips the mind.
It trails you through the waking hours,
Sits heavy in your silent room,
No mercy in its patient tread,
A shadow stretching into doom.
You laugh, you run, you change your face,
Yet still it breathes upon your neck,
For pain once born by human hands
Do not forget, do not neglect.
Only forgiveness breaks the chain,
Only truth unmakes the scar,
Yet God alone knows where they dwell,
How distant now, how far they are, how far.
So guilt becomes a lifelong prayer,
A searching heart with broken sight,
Until you kneel and truly seek
The soul you wounded in the night.
For wounds ignored will rule your days,
A sentence written by your own hand,
This is the doom you gave to yourself.
When mercy is what you need from God.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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