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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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The Knife They Sharpened #sadpoetry #poemaday #freeverse

She was born with a gentle heart,
the kind that still believed
a wounded person
could be healed by kindness.

She gave without counting.
Forgave without keeping records.
Loved people
who had forgotten
how to love themselves.

There was nothing dangerous about her,

except her goodness.

It made certain people uncomfortable.

Her honesty
stood too close to their lies.

Her kindness
made their cruelty visible.

Her light
found the dust
they had carefully hidden
beneath their rugs.

So they sharpened a knife.

Not always a blade you could see.

Sometimes it was a rumor.

Sometimes a betrayal
whispered behind closed doors.

Sometimes it was a hand
that promised to help
and quietly pushed her
toward the edge.

They placed small stones
along her path
and waited for her to fall.

Then called her weak
when she stumbled.

They planted thorns
where she once planted flowers.

They poisoned friendships,
twisted innocent words,
turned her kindness
into something they could use
against her.

And when she finally became quiet,
they called her proud.

When she stopped trusting,
they called her cold.

When she protected her heart,
they called her cruel.

No one asked
who taught her
to build walls.

No one asked
how many times
she had opened the door
only to find a knife
waiting on the other side.

Her soul was broken
in places nobody could see.

Yet somehow,
she still chose tenderness.

That was the part
they could never understand.

They expected pain
to make her vicious.

Instead,
it made her careful.

They expected betrayal
to turn her heart to stone.

Instead,
it taught her
where to place her softness.

She became quieter,
but not empty.

Sadder,
but not cruel.

Wiser,
but still capable of love.

And that frightened them more
than her brokenness ever could.

Because they had sharpened
every weapon they had
to destroy her goodness,

and somehow,

she remained good.

Not untouched.

Not innocent.

Not the woman she had been
before the world taught her
how cruel people can become.

But good.

A little scarred.
A little tired.
A little afraid.

Still good.

And perhaps that is
the greatest revenge
against those who tried
to bury her light,

they wanted her heart
to become like theirs.

Instead,

she learned to carry
her broken heart
without becoming
the person who broke it.

So let them sharpen
their knives.

Let them plant
their thorns.

Let them build walls
across her road.

She has walked through worse.

And if she bleeds
along the way,

let the earth remember
what they tried to destroy.

Because some hearts
are so deeply rooted in goodness
that even after being cut,

they grow back as flowers.


© 2026 Gloria Penelope

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