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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...
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Still, I Endured #freeverse #poem #sadpoetry

It was never easy,
not a path adorned with mercy,
nor softened by the kindness of fate.
It was a road carved in stone,
unyielding beneath trembling feet,
where each step demanded
a fragment of my strength.

Hardships did not arrive gently,
they came like relentless tides,
crashing against the fragile shores
of all I thought I was.
They spoke in storms,
in sleepless nights,
in burdens that settled
deep within the marrow of my being.

Life, once tender in its promise,
turned bitter upon my tongue,
a taste I could not escape,
sharp, lingering,
unforgiving in its presence.

Days unraveled into struggles,
stitched together with exhaustion,
while nights became long corridors
of wandering thoughts,
echoes of doubt
that refused to be quiet.

There were moments
I felt myself dissolving,
becoming less than whole,
less than certain,
as if existence itself
had forgotten my name.

I bent beneath the weight,
I faltered in silent corners,
I carried storms
No eyes could see.

And still,
something within me
refused to surrender.

A quiet defiance,
fragile yet unbroken,
whispered through the ruins:
continue.

Though the world grew heavy,
though hope seemed distant,
though every breath felt borrowed.

I remained.

Not untouched,
not unscarred,
but present,
a living testament
to endurance shaped in silence.

Survival is not always
a triumphant cry,
It is often a whisper,
a trembling persistence,
a soul choosing to stay
When leaving feels easier.

And so I speak it now,
not as a victory,
But as truth etched deep
into the fabric of my existence,

It was not easy.
Hardships found me.
Life grew bitter and unkind…

Yet through it all,
through every fracture and fall,

I endured.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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