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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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The Harvest of Your Laziness #sadpoetry #poem #freeverse

It wasn’t real,
that connection you held up
like something rare.
It was only your restless emptiness
reaching outward,
never inward where truth lived.

There was something in you,
a rare kind of wrongness,
not loud, but steady,
growing in the quiet corners
You refused to clean.

Your habits sank deep,
roots of neglect and excuse,
feeding on your comfort,
tightening around any chance
of becoming better.

Inside your chest,
something lingered,
not wounded,
but slowly rotting
from everything you chose not to face.

Your words carried weight,
but not wisdom,
dirty with judgment,
falling on others
as if they owed you effort
You would never give yourself.

You dreamed wildly,
expected greatly,
Yet moved nowhere.
Laziness sat in you like spring,
fresh, alive,
growing stronger each day
You chose not to change.

And so you became
a tree,

Not shaped by storms,
but by stillness.
Not broken,
but unused.

A tree that stands alone,
roots deep in wasted time,
branches stretched with empty wants,
leaves green with excuses.

Alive,
but only in appearance.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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