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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 Hunter of Strong Hearts #sadpoetry #freeverse

He walks with a smile
that shines like the sun,
telling sweet stories
to everyone.

His words are polished,
his manners refined,
but hidden intentions
sit deep in his mind.

He searches for women
who stand on their own,
who built their dreams
from seeds they had sown.

The ladies who struggled,
who weathered the rain,
who carried their burdens
through hardship and pain.

He praises their courage,
their strength and their grace,
while quietly plotting
to take their safe place.

His compliments sparkle,
his promises flow,
like rivers that seem deep
but are shallow below.

He says, "You're amazing,
the strongest I've seen,"
yet envies the kingdom
she built in between.

The independent lady
believes in his care,
until she discovers
there's emptiness there.

For he loved the harvest,
but never the field.
He wanted the treasure,
not wounds that had healed.

And when she grows weary
of carrying two,
his affection fades
like the morning dew.

He leaves without warning,
without looking back,
another strong woman
left filling the crack.

The village winds whisper,
the old people say:
"A cunning man's shadow
never chooses to stay."

For love is not taking
what someone has grown.
Love stands beside strength;
it doesn't claim the throne.

And somewhere a lady,
with wisdom hard-earned,
will see through the mask
before she gets burned.

She'll keep her heart guarded,
her spirit set free,
for true love adds branches
to a flourishing tree.

While cunning men wander,
their games growing old,
forever chasing silver
while losing pure gold.

© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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