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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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The Heart Nobody Sees #sadpoetry

My heart has been bleeding for so long
it has learned how to hide the stain.

It dresses itself in ordinary smiles,
laughs when laughter is expected,
nods at conversations,
and walks through crowded streets
as if nothing inside is falling apart.

No one notices.

How could they?

The wound is hidden beneath practiced replies,
beneath "I'm okay,"
beneath the mask I wear so often
it sometimes feels more real than my face.

Inside, there are storms.

Quiet storms.

The kind that do not shatter windows
but slowly shake the foundations.

The kind that keep a person awake at night,
replaying old hurts,
counting regrets,
and wondering how someone can feel so lonely
while surrounded by people.

Fear sits beside me like a shadow.

Fear of being judged.
Fear of being misunderstood.
Fear of becoming a burden.
Fear of speaking the truth
and watching people look away.

So I remain silent.

A prisoner whose chains are invisible.

The world sees a functioning person.
A capable person.
A smiling person.

But it does not see the battlefields
hidden beneath my skin.

It does not hear the exhausted heart
begging for a moment of peace.

Yet somewhere inside the bleeding,
inside the fear,
inside the darkness that refuses to leave,

a small part of me still survives.

A quiet voice that whispers,
"Hold on."

Not because the pain is gone.

But because even wounded hearts
still carry hope.

And perhaps one day,
the heart nobody sees
will no longer need to hide.

It will step into the light,
scarred but breathing,
broken but healing,
afraid but finally free.

© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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