Skip to main content

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...
Post a Comment

The Reckoning of Mirrors #sadpoetry #freeverse #poem

Behold,
when the sovereign of self-regard
finds his empire of glass undone,
and the mirror—once obedient,
splinters beneath the weight of truth.

His tears awaken then.
Not of contrition,
nor of humbled grace,
but of wounded vanity,
bleeding from the fracture
of his own illusion.

He, the architect of tender devastations,
harvester of borrowed devotion,
moved through hearts
as though they were provinces to conquer,
leaving famine where he once feasted.

No tremor touched him then.
No midnight conscience
gnawed at his repose.
He baptized cruelty as necessity,
perfumed manipulation as charm,
and enthroned himself
in the cathedral of his own reflection.

But Karma,
ancient and incorruptible,
keeps her vigil beyond applause.
She writes in invisible ink,
inscribing consequence
into the marrow of time.

When she descends,
it is not with fury,
but with inevitability.

The admirers dissolve like mist.
The echo of praise decays into silence.
The throne reveals itself
as scaffolding.

And there,
amid the ruins of self-adoration,
his tears ignite.

Activated not by sorrow for others,
but by the unbearable sight
of his own smallness.

Thus life concludes its lesson:
not by the tyrant’s design,
not by the choreography
of his calculated dominion,
but by the austere hand of balance.

For existence bows to no ego.
It bends to no fabricated grandeur.
It answers only to the quiet arithmetic
of deed and return.

So let it be written,
that endings are not authored
by arrogance,
but by reckoning.

And when the final mirror stands unshattered,
it will not flatter.
It will not distort.

It will reveal.

That is life,
severe, sovereign,
and exquisitely exact.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

It's Not About You #poemaday #poetryaddict #poem

The mountain never bowed to applause, Nor did the river pause for tears. The sky has carried a thousand storms Without remembering a single face. You are a traveler, not the road. A heartbeat, not the clock. The world was already speaking Long before it learned your name. Some goodbyes bloom from seasons, Not from mistakes. Some distances are drawn by time, Not by the hands that reach across them. Don't make yourself the author Of every unfinished sentence. Some pages are left blank Because silence belongs there. There is a strange mercy In not standing at the center Of every ending, Of every change. The sun does not rise to prove a point. The stars do not dim to send a message. Life simply unfolds, Wild, indifferent, beautiful. So carry your kindness, Leave your footprints lightly, And when the world turns without asking, Smile. It's not about you. That's how it is. © 2026 Gloria Penelope
Post a Comment
Read more

Where Her Heartbeat Remains #sadpoetry #poetryaddict #poemofgrief

She was here, for a moment too small for the clocks to measure, too brief for the world to understand, yet long enough to leave fingerprints upon a mother's soul. A baby girl. A whispered promise wrapped in fragile dreams, carried beneath a hopeful heart that had already imagined a thousand tomorrows. Then came the silence. A silence so heavy it bent the walls inward. A silence that settled inside empty rooms, inside folded blankets, inside the spaces where laughter was meant to grow. The mother wept. Not the gentle tears that fall with ordinary sadness. These were ancient tears. The kind born from a wound too deep for language, too sacred for explanation. She cried for first steps that would never mark the floor. For tiny hands that would never reach for hers. For lullabies that would remain unsung, their melodies trapped forever inside her trembling chest. Night after night, she gathered her grief like broken glass. Each memory, each dream, each unanswered prayer cut her anew. Th...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Kind of Love That Stays #lovepoetry #poetrydaily #poetryaddict

I did not fall for you like people fall in movies. There was no thunder, no sudden music, no heaven opening its hands. You simply stayed a little longer than you should have. And somehow, that was enough. You learned the quiet parts of me, the places I keep locked, the old wounds I cover with ordinary conversation. You never asked me to explain the darkness. You sat beside it. That frightened me. Because I had spent so long believing love meant being saved, I did not know what to do with someone who could look at my brokenness and call it beautiful. Sometimes I wonder if we found each other too late. You carrying your ghosts, me carrying mine, two wounded souls pretending we were not recognizing each other. Our love was never soft. It had teeth. It lived in midnight conversations, in jealous silences, in the ache of almost losing one another. You could hurt me without raising your voice. I could break your heart with nothing more than the distance in my eyes. And still, when the night ...
Post a Comment
Read more