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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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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 name.

The stars have closed their eyes.

Even the moon
turns away
from hearts
that mistake hunger
for devotion.

Still...

When darkness whispers
through abandoned rooms,
I find myself
searching for that beautiful lie again.

Because the cruelest truth
is not that love betrayed me,

it is that the thought of love
still knows exactly
how to find me
whenever I am
most willing
to disappear.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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