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...
When they return,
do not mistake the echo for devotion.
It is not your soul they seek.
It is the harvest they once abandoned.
Their footsteps do not carry love;
They carry appetite.
Absence did not awaken tenderness in them.
It merely revealed how much they lost access to.
Do not romanticize the knock upon your door.
It is not long-bending in humility;
It is a desire retracing its map
to reclaim what once fed it.
If love had lived in them,
It would not have departed so easily.
Love does not loosen its grip
only to tighten it when it's convenient.
Understand this:
Their return is a strategy, not a confession.
It is ambition clothed as remorse,
hunger disguised as affection.
Close the door, not with anger,
but with clarity.
Seal it with self-respect.
Sweep the threshold of their shadows.
What once walked away
has already proven its loyalty to departure.
Clear the path.
Let the dust of manipulation settle into memory.
Make space where sincerity can breathe.
For one day,
a presence unburdened by agenda
will approach that same entrance,
not to extract,
not to consume,
but to dwell.
And when that knock arrives,
Your spirit will not tremble in confusion.
It will recognize peace
as something that does not leave
and return only when in need.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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