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...
A bitter seed rests in your hand,
Rough on the tongue, heavy to keep,
Not easy to swallow, nor pleasant to taste,
Yet it is the fruit of the fields you reap.
It grew from the soil you once prepared,
From silent choices the earth had known,
Roots fed by deeds you scattered in time,
Now rising tall where the winds have blown.
The harvest arrives with a hardened truth,
Its skin cracked open beneath the sun,
Rotten by heat that would not forgive,
For the planting was done, and the growing begun.
Life turns its wheel like quiet karma,
Returning the seeds we buried below,
What once was sown with careless hands
Returns in the fruits we must now know.
No tears fall down to soften the ground,
No sorrow can bargain with fate’s decree,
So face the music the seasons play,
And dance to the rhythm of what must be.
For every field remembers the farmer,
Each seed recalls the hand that cast,
And the bitter fruit upon your lips
Is the echo of choices from your past.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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