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 calls it love,
but it falls in pieces,
not a feast,
just crumbs scattered at her feet.
She gathers them in silence,
hoping one day
they will become something whole,
something warm,
something real.
But his hands are empty
of truth.
His smile,
a mask polished for display,
soft words rehearsed
like lines in a play
He never meant to live.
Behind her back,
his absence speaks louder,
his presence thinner
than the promises he makes.
He moves like he owns her,
like her heart is a place
he conquered,
not a gift he was given.
And still he says,
“I love you,”
as if the words alone
can cover the distance
between what he shows
and what he is.
What a quiet kind of cruelty,
to offer illusion
and call it devotion.
But she,
she is not made of fragments.
She is not meant
to survive on less,
to shrink herself
into the shape of his half-love.
There is a truth waiting for her,
somewhere beyond his shadow,
a love that does not pretend,
does not disappear,
does not make her question
her own worth.
Because she is not nothing.
And love,
real love,
does not leave you
hungry.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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