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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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Laughter in Cold Rooms #poem #freeverse #sadpoetry

Laughter in cold rooms,
Thin as frost along the windowpane,
Slips out of trembling lips,
Not meant, yet born,
A tremor in the stillness,
A tremble against the dark.

Walls shiver with the memory of warmth,
Curtains cling to shadows
That stretch like old regrets.
The air tastes of silence, of sighs,
Yet a laugh erupts,
A brittle flare,
A spark unwilling to die.

It is not joy, not the careless joy of youth,
But a trembling echo,
A defiance of grief that coils
Around the chest like cold iron.
It is laughter stolen
From the teeth of despair,
A brittle, unsteady bridge
Between what was,
And what cannot be.

Yes, it should not be,
No light should pierce such gloom,
Yet here it is,
Ringing hollow yet alive,
Shivering across the floorboards
Like wind through dead leaves.

It mocks the stillness,
Mocks the sorrow that waits patient and sharp,
But also honors it,
For even in the blackest folds of night,
Even where hope seems impossible,
Something insists on speaking,
On remembering
That life once sang
And once burned.

Laughter in cold rooms,
A trembling, stubborn defiance,
A flicker of warmth in frozen air,
A confession that even in despair,
We are still alive,
Still human,
Still daring to touch joy
Even when it hurts.

And when it fades,
It leaves behind a hollow glow,
A fragile residue of being,
A quiet reminder that nothing,
Not grief, not time, not absence,
Can fully erase the sound of a heart
That once tried to laugh
Even in a cold room.

© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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