There is a place inside you No map has ever traced, a quiet room behind the ribs where light forgets to stay. No one sees it when you smile, No one hears it when you speak. It moves beneath your laughter like a river running deep. It is yours alone to carry, not carved for other hands, a language made of silence Only your soul understands. Some mornings it is heavier, a stone you cannot name, And still you rise and wear your life as if it were the same. But pain, it does not leave you when ignored or pushed away, it waits within the folds of time, it learns you day by day. It is not your enemy, though it cuts without a sound; it is the truth you buried but still lives underground. And yes, there are nights it breaks you, when endurance feels too wide, when even breath feels borrowed And there is nowhere left to hide. Yet somehow you continue, not because you do not fall, but because within the breaking You still answer life’s call. You learn to walk beside it, not beneath it, not above...
The path did not whisper welcome,
It spoke in trials and broken ground,
A narrow passage of thorns and shadow
Where certainty learned to dissolve.
Obstacles stood like ancient gates,
Heavy with questions only pain could ask,
Demanding the truth of my spirit
Before allowing passage forward.
I crossed seasons that bent the spine of hope,
Nights where direction bled into silence,
Yet fate moved beneath the dust of doubt,
An unseen current guiding my steps.
Each wound became a language of wisdom,
Each fall a scripture written in bone,
Suffering refined the compass within,
Separating illusion from calling.
Then the earth softened into mercy,
And green pastures breathed my name,
Not as an escape from what was endured,
But as the harvest of perseverance.
Now I know the road was sacred in its cruelty
A pilgrimage disguised as pain,
Aligning my footsteps with destiny,
Until struggle itself pointed me home.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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