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...
Life moves fast between tall buildings,
where mornings don’t wait for tired souls.
The sun rises over concrete dreams,
and people wake already running late.
Faces pass without names or stories,
each mind locked inside its own survival.
Everyone carries a private battle,
hidden behind quick steps and steady eyes.
Cars flood the streets like endless rivers,
horns shouting louder than human voices.
Red lights blink, engines roar,
time itself feels chased and breathless.
On the sidewalks, beggars take their places,
day after day, on the same corners,
working hope into open hands,
learning patience from the dust and noise.
Hustling is not a trend here.
It is the city’s daily language.
Employed or not, everyone grinds
suits, uniforms, and worn-out shoes alike.
Dreams are chased between shifts and traffic,
sleep is borrowed, rest is rare.
Life is hard in the city’s heart,
where there’s no time to pause or interfere.
No space to carry another’s burden,
no room for slow emotions.
Here, survival sets the rhythm,
and hustling remains the motto
that keeps the city alive.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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