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When Your Hands Are Empty #poemofhope #faithpoetry #spokenwordpoetry

There will be a season when you have done all you know to do and still, nothing. No answer at the door. No sudden change. No sign in the sky telling you that tomorrow will be kinder. Just you, your unanswered prayer, and the strange silence that makes you question whether God is still listening. He is. Do not mistake silence for absence. Some of God's deepest work happens without making a sound. Roots grow in darkness. Healing happens beneath skin. Morning begins long before the window knows there is light. And somewhere beyond what you can see, your life is being moved by hands you cannot follow. So do not abandon your faith because you cannot trace God's footsteps. You were never promised a clear view. You were given enough light for the next step. Take it. Even if your knees shake. Even if your heart has questions your mouth is afraid to ask. Take it. Faith is not a life without uncertainty. It is waking up with uncertainty beside you and refusing to let it choose your direc...
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Inheritance of the Serpent #poem

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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