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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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Gathering the Broken Pieces #sadpoetry #poetryaddict #poem

After the storm,

I found myself standing
among the ruins
of a life I once knew.

The skies had cleared,
but the damage remained.

Scattered across the ground
were broken pieces, 

pieces of trust,
pieces of dreams,
pieces of people
who promised they would stay.

I knelt in silence.

Not because I was strong,
but because there was nothing left
to hold me upright.

The storm had taken much.

It stole familiar voices.

It carried away plans
I had carefully built.

It left empty chairs
where laughter once lived.

And painful goodbyes
echoed through the halls
of my memory.

Some departures
arrive without warning.

A final conversation.

A closed door.

A fading heartbeat.

A last glance
that becomes forever.

Loss has a way
of changing the shape
of a soul.

It carves valleys
where mountains once stood.

It teaches lessons
no one ever wishes to learn.

And yet,

there I was,

gathering the broken pieces.

One by one.

The piece called courage.

The piece called faith.

The piece called hope,
which had somehow survived
beneath the wreckage.

Some fragments cut my hands.

Others brought tears.

Each piece carried
a memory.

A wound.

A lesson.

A scar.

I wanted to leave them there.

To walk away
from everything that hurt.

But healing asks something difficult:

It asks us to rebuild
with the very pieces
that shattered us.

So I gathered them.

Not to become
who I once was,

but to become
someone new.

For storms do not return us
to our former selves.

They transform us.

And though the cracks remain,
they tell a story
of survival.

A story of someone
who stood in the aftermath
of loss,
crisis,
and heartbreaking farewells,

and chose,
with trembling hands,

to keep going.

To keep rebuilding.

To keep believing.

For sometimes
the most beautiful souls

are not the ones
that were never broken,

but the ones
who gathered their scattered pieces

after the storm

and learned how to shine
through the cracks.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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