Mercy came knocking once, a pale wanderer draped in dawn, with weary eyes and gentle hands, carrying no sword, only the burden of understanding. But the wicked knew not her face. Their hearts were citadels of stone, where compassion died unnamed and every wound became a weapon. They barred the gates. For mercy is a stranger in the hearts of the wicked. She walks their halls unseen, a ghost among shadows, whispering of forgiveness to ears that worship vengeance. They drink from poisoned wells and call bitterness wisdom. They sharpen grief into blades and wear cruelty like a crown. Where mercy offers a bridge, they build a wall. Where mercy kneels, they strike. And so she leaves quietly, taking her light with her, while darkness settles deeper into chambers already cold. The wicked do not fear mercy, they fear what mercy reveals: that beneath their iron masks, beneath their kingdoms of pride, beneath the ruins they call strength, there lives a trembling truth they dare not face. For merc...
There was once a heart
that did not begin cruel.
It once carried softness,
once understood love, and
once trembled at the sight of pain.
But darkness is patient.
It does not destroy everything at once.
It whispers first.
Quiet lies slipped gently into wounds.
Bitterness planted like seeds.
Anger fed slowly over time
until kindness began starving inside.
The heart changed quietly.
Smiles became masks.
Compassion became weakness.
Trust became something to exploit.
And the soul slowly learned,
how to feel powerful,
through the suffering of others.
Evil rarely arrives
wearing horns or flames.
Sometimes it hides
inside wounded pride,
inside greed,
Inside, jealousy left untreated,
inside pain that refused to heal
and instead learned how to spread itself.
The devilish heart grew colder with time.
It laughed at innocence.
Fed on control.
Turned love into manipulation
and truth into poison.
Even silence became dangerous around it.
Yet beneath all the darkness,
buried somewhere deep,
was the fragile memory
of who that heart once was.
Because no soul is born monstrous.
Some are simply consumed slowly
by shadows they chose to entertain
until the shadows finally felt like home.
And perhaps that is the tragedy of evil.
Not that darkness exists,
But sometimes people
Invite it in so often
They forget they were ever meant
to live in the light.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
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