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...
A serpent coils within your mother’s deeds,
not born of flesh, but of learned venom.
She fed her children bitter truths,
taught them to name strangers as enemies
before they learned how to listen.
Her words became seeds,
pressed into young hearts like commandments.
What she feared, they learned to hate.
What she despised, they were taught to reject.
Thus the poison traveled
quietly, faithfully
from generation to generation.
Her heart is a house of old anger,
rooms locked with grudges,
walls painted with rage against the innocent.
She mistakes wounds for wisdom,
and pain for righteousness.
Those who never harmed her
carry the weight of her fury.
Those who know nothing of her past
are sentenced by it.
The serpent does not ask who deserves the bite.
And still the question lingers,
soft but relentless as time:
When will she repent?
When will she loosen her grip on hatred
and let mercy breathe where rage has lived?
For until the serpent is named,
until the poison is refused,
her legacy will not be love
but the echo of harm
mistaken for inheritance.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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