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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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Thrown Away #sadpoetry #poem-a-day #poetry

They looked at me
the way people look at rubbish,
useful for a moment,
then forgotten at the side of the road.

I carried their burdens,
held their secrets,
gave pieces of my soul
to keep their worlds from breaking.

But kindness was a currency
they spent without repayment.

My tears bled in silence,
invisible rivers of red
flowing beneath a face
forced to pretend it was whole.

No one saw them.

Or perhaps they did,
and simply chose not to care.

For mercy is a stranger
in the hearts of the wicked.
Compassion dies quickly
where selfishness builds its throne.

Their judgments fell like stones,
heavy and cold,
crushing the very hands
that once reached out to help them.

I was measured,
weighed,
and condemned
for scars they helped create.

When they needed me,
I was important.

When they finished with me,
I became nobody.

A discarded name.
A forgotten voice.
A shadow standing alone
at the edge of their celebrations.

The cruelest wounds
are not carved by enemies,
but by those who once called you friend,
while sharpening knives behind their smiles.

Now I walk through the ruins
of everything I gave away,
haunted by the echoes
of promises buried in shallow graves.

And still the world turns,
blind to the blood hidden in my tears,
blind to the emptiness left behind.

For some people
love is only a tool,
and people are only ladders.

And once they reach the heights they desire,
they kick away the hands
that lifted them.

Leaving you below,

broken,
bleeding,
forgotten,

like rubbish
beneath the feet
of the merciless.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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