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...
He named it love,
Yet it came hollow,
a vow without a body,
a season that refused to bloom.
No flowers bent toward her name,
no time carved deliberately,
no shared sunlit hours
where footsteps learn from each other.
He kept her hidden in the margins,
visited only when he wanted to.
His tenderness was selective
a door he opened only inward.
He drank from her presence,
fed on her patience,
mistook her silence for consent,
her loyalty for an endless supply.
Love, in his hands, was free access to her.
not devotion, no witness.
He touched her life
without ever standing in it.
But her eyes learned the truth of him:
How affection can imitate warmth
while harboring cold intent,
Cruelty sometimes wears kindness
like a borrowed coat.
So she left quietly,
not from weakness,
but from clarity.
She folded her love back into herself,
rescued it from misuse,
and carried it forward, unbroken.
He never heard the sound of her leaving,
only the absence where she once stood.
And in that silence,
His love was finally named
for what it was:
too small to keep her.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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