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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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Invisible Wound #sadpoetry #freeverse #poem

I ache as though pierced by steel,
yet my body stands unbroken,
no blood to testify,
no scar to translate the suffering.
The wound lives where eyes cannot reach
a silent hemorrhage of the heart.

My chest carries a constant unrest,
a grief that refuses sleep.
Peace has fled my inner chambers,
leaving behind a hollow echo
where hope once knelt and breathed.

My soul is not shattered in violence,
but dismantled slowly,
piece by piece,
by hands skilled in quiet harm.

I was spent like something disposable,
used, then discarded without ceremony,
my worth measured only
by how much could be extracted from me.

Compensation came as crumbs of mercy,
food offered not as respect,
but as one feeds the forgotten,
as though I were a stranger to dignity,
homeless beneath the roof of my labor.

What a merciless master you were,
to turn authority into cruelty,
to confuse command with ownership,
and power with the right to diminish.

Yet even now, unseen and aching,
I carry what you could not consume:
a voice bruised but unextinguished,
a soul wounded yet aware,
and the quiet certainty
that no man who feeds on another’s suffering
ever truly stands tall.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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