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 ...
Life walks with destiny beside it,
a quiet shadow we rarely see,
each step we take feels chosen late,
Yet traced long before memory.
When days grow heavy on your chest,
and hope feels thinner than your breath,
remember—this path you struggle on
was written before your birth and breath.
Storms were inked into your story,
tears knew your name before they fell,
But so did the strength you haven’t met,
And victories time has yet to tell.
You are not lost, nor walking wrong,
even when the road feels unclear,
for destiny bends, but never breaks,
It walks with you, always near.
Trust the script you cannot read,
the chapters still unseen,
What feels like an ending today
may be a bridge, not a closing scene.
Life is heavy, yes—but meaningful,
Every burden holds a sign:
You were written with purpose,
And your destiny keeps time.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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inspirationalpoetry lifepoetry poem
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inspirationalpoetry
lifepoetry
poem
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