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Love's Dark Reflection #lovepoetry #poetrydaily #poemaday

Love was never a heartbeat. It was the echo left behind after the heart forgot why it was still beating. It arrived wearing another person's face, its hands stitched together from promises that had already begun to rot. I welcomed it. Not because it was kind, but because loneliness knows how to mistake a wolf for warmth. Every smile it offered cast a longer shadow. Every whispered "forever" fed another ghost sleeping beneath my ribs. The thought of love is a clever liar. It builds cathedrals from broken mirrors, then asks us to kneel before our own reflections, calling the illusion destiny. How eagerly we obey. We water flowers that grow from graves, write poems to people who never truly existed, and embrace memories still unborn. Love watches. Silent. Patient. Like a spider waiting in the center of a web woven from hope. It never forces us inside. It simply lets us believe the silver threads are rays of morning light. By the time we understand, the sky has forgotten our ...
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I Live With Tears Every Day #sadpoetry

I live with tears every day,
not the kind the world can see,
but the ones that drown a soul
while the face remembers how to smile.

I have become
a stranger to happiness,
a traveler wandering
through endless nights
where even the moon
cannot find me.

Every sunrise
feels like another promise
that forgot my name.
Every sunset
buries another piece of me
that never found its way home.

There are wounds
time refuses to touch,
memories
that sharpen themselves
each time I close my eyes.

I have held conversations
with empty rooms,
embraced silence
as though it were the last friend
who never chose to leave,
and whispered prayers
that echoed back
without an answer.

The tears never ask permission.
They arrive
like faithful visitors,
sitting beside me
through lonely evenings,
sleeping beside me
through restless nights,
awakening with me
before the dawn.

Some people
call it sadness.

They do not know
what it means
to carry a heart
that beats like a funeral bell,
mourning dreams
that died
while the body
continued to breathe.

I envy the rain.

At least
when the sky cries,
the earth welcomes it.
When I cry,
I become another story
people grow tired of hearing,
another soul
they tell us to be stronger,
as if strength
has never broken
behind closed doors.

Yet here I stand,
stitched together
by scars no one applauds,
breathing through pain
that has memorized my name,
walking through darkness
that follows like a shadow
determined to become me.

Perhaps
the cruelest part of sorrow
is not that it hurts,

it is that it teaches you
how to laugh
while your heart
quietly collapses.

Still,
beneath this endless flood,
a tiny flame refuses to die.

It flickers
against every storm,
every goodbye,
every sleepless night,
every tear
that has fallen unnoticed.

Maybe hope
is not the absence of pain.

Maybe hope
is choosing to breathe
with trembling lungs,
to rise
with a shattered heart,
to believe
that somewhere beyond
this endless night,
there is a dawn
patiently waiting
for those
who survived the darkness.

Until that day,
I will carry my tears
like silent prayers,
my scars
like unwritten poems,
and my broken heart
like proof
that even after being shattered
a thousand times,

it never forgot
how to love.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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