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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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Where Silence Took Your Place In Love #poem #sadlove #breakup

Break-ups do not shatter in a single sound,
they press down slowly,
a steady weight upon the chest,
as if the air itself has thickened
With everything we can no longer say.

Silence arrives first.
It stretches across the room,
pulls the curtains closed,
replaces the easy rhythm
of familiar voices and shared breath.
Where warmth once lingered,
stillness settles in its place.

The ordinary becomes unbearable,
empty chairs,
a phone that does not light up,
the absence of a name
once spoken without effort.
Loss grows loud in its quietness,
a constant awareness
that something sacred has slipped away.

Two hearts, once aligned,
Now beat alone.
Loneliness does not shout,
it hums beneath the skin,
a low reminder
of what love once sounded like.

Some words never found daylight:
Forgiveness withheld,
truths swallowed by pride,
“I’m sorry,” resting
on the edge of almost.
They linger between us,
unfinished sentences
with no ending.

And so we face the road ahead,
not together,
but side by side one final time,
before choosing separate paths.
Different directions,
different horizons,
carrying pieces of each otherWee cannot return.

The ache follows for a while,
walking quietly beside us.
Yet beneath the heaviness,
something softer begins to grow.

Peace,
slow, stubborn,
pressing its roots
into wounded ground.

It does not erase the past.
It does not silence the memory.
But it steadies the heart,
and whispers gently,

You can keep walking.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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