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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 Storm You Awaken "Karma" #poem #sadpoetry #naturepoetry

When you drape deceit upon my name,
do not expect me to wilt like a wounded flower.
I am not fragile porcelain
set upon the shelf of your amusement.

I am flint against steel,
And your trickery is the spark
you never learned to fear.

You thought your are clever,
weaving velvet lies with a silver tongue,
masking intent behind honeyed breath.
But I taste falsehood
the way wolves taste blood in winter air.

Understand this,
My stillness is not surrender.
It is a calculation.
It is the ocean before the tempest,
the hush before cathedrals collapse.

When I react,
it is not noise,
It is reckoning.

I do not scatter madness blindly;
I distill it.
I refine it into something precise,
a blade forged in the furnace of betrayal.
You call it fury,
I call it balance restored.

For when someone dares
to outwit my patience,
to gamble with my trust,
they awaken something ancient,
a law older than pride:

Karma.

And I,
I become its instrument.

Not cruel without cause,
not wrathful without wound,
but inevitable.

So tread lightly
with your clever disguises.
For when you fool me,
You do not break me,
You summon the part of me
that does not tremble,
does not retreat,
Do not forget.

You summon the storm
That answers deception
with thunder.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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