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 is a darkness
that does not knock before entering.
It lingers quietly in corners,
sits beside me in silence,
follows me into crowded rooms,
and somehow still makes me feel alone.
Some nights it hangs above my head
like heavy storm clouds refusing to rain,
turning simple thoughts into wars
my mind never seems to win.
It whispers old fears back to life.
Reminds me of every mistake,
every wound,
every moment I tried to forget.
And no matter how loudly the world moves around me,
the darkness always knows how to make everything feel still.
People often think darkness looks dramatic.
But sometimes it looks ordinary.
Like smiling while feeling empty.
Like answering “I’m fine” automatically.
Like staring at the ceiling at 2 a.m.
with a mind too tired to keep fighting itself.
It follows quietly.
In exhaustion.
In overthinking.
In the pressure to keep surviving
even when the soul feels worn thin.
But somewhere inside all that darkness,
there is still a small stubborn light
that refuses to die.
A voice that softly says,
“Stay.”
“Rest.”
“Try again tomorrow.”
And maybe healing does not begin
when the darkness disappears completely.
Maybe healing begins
the moment someone realizes
they do not have to face it alone.
© 2026 Gloria Penelope
Comments