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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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Mercy, the Stranger #poetry #poetrydaily

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 mercy is a mirror,
and the wicked cannot bear
their own reflection.

So they exile her,
again and again,
until her name becomes foreign
upon their tongues.

And in the end,

it is not mercy that abandons them,

it is they who spend their lives
running from the only guest
who ever came to save them.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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