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 ...
The forest stands dark and breathing,
trees twisted like ancient thoughts,
their shadows whispering warnings
to every step that dares to enter.
Eyes glow between tangled roots,
animals move with silent command,
claws, wings, and hidden breaths
Obey laws older than fear itself.
Rare plants rise from the damp earth,
thorns guarding fragile beauty,
poison and healing sharing one stem,
Life balanced on divine precision.
Thunderstorms rumble through the canopy,
not spoken, yet deeply heard
a power unseen but undeniable,
holding every leaf in place.
In this fearful, living cathedral,
where danger and wonder entwine,
God’s power unveils itself clearly:
order within chaos,
life within shadow,
and purpose within the wild.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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