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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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What You Mistook for Yours #sadlove #sadpoetry #spokenwordpoetry

You thought her glow
was something you had given her,
a candle you could cup in your hands,
shield from the wind,
or snuff out when it displeased you.

You never understood:

some women are born
carrying entire dawns
inside their ribs.

She came to you
with constellations beneath her skin,
with a tenderness that could have
made a sanctuary of your ruins.

You called it weakness.

You mistook her patience
for permission,
her silence for surrender,
her forgiveness for a chain
you could keep pulling.

So you began taking pieces of her,
a little laughter,
a little courage,
a little faith in the word love,
until even her reflection
looked like a stranger
asking to be rescued.

Yet the light did not die.

It went underground.

It hid beneath the ashes,
quiet as roots beneath winter,
waiting for the moment
she would remember
that darkness had never been
her true name.

And when she left,
she did not steal your fortune,
your house,
your name,
or anything you once believed
made you powerful.

She took only herself.

That was enough.

Because the moment she stepped beyond you,
the sky seemed to recognize her.

Her wounds became windows.
Her grief became a river.
Her silence became thunder.

And you finally understood
what you had been too proud to see:

You never created her light.

You merely stood close enough
to believe it belonged to you.

Now the woman you tried to extinguish
walks beneath her own sunrise,

and you are left
with the cold, empty knowledge
that some lights cannot be possessed.

They can only be witnessed.

And once they leave,
the darkness remembers
exactly what it lost.

And you...

you are the darkness.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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