Inspiration:
Inspired by the “Footprints in the Sand” tradition—the enduring idea that when only one set of footprints remains, it is because the Divine is carrying us through our darkest hour.
—The Weight of Mercy—
I turned my years back down the seaward strand,
where joy had once impressed its double trace;
But when the dark unloosed me from its hand,
one print alone lay solemn in its place.
I deemed that single furrow spoke of doom,
and read Heaven’s silence as a sealed decree;
Yet grief, self-crowned, within my inward gloom,
arraigned the unseen for what mine eyes could see.
Then came one night when one brief sentence fell
through all the citadels I built so strong,
and where my failing breath could scarcely dwell,
I felt a strength that bore my soul along;
till, looking back, the furrows seemed to shine:
My feet were mine—the strength that bore me, Thine.
Did anyone read what God said to Adam in the garden dont eat from the tree of knowledge, of good and evil.
The enemy knows our weakness before we know God strength,
God didn't say dont eat from the tree of knowledge, of evil and good
As evil now suppresses good
The dark night of the soul
Feels like a wall so deep,
anchored in the heavy hours of waiting,
holding back the dawn
like stone against the rising tide.
You place your palms against the cold edge
and whisper a prayer into the stillness.
It feels as though your words fall quiet,
trapped on this side of the shadow,
where Heaven seems silent
and the midnight feels permanent.
Yet prayer is not a fragile thing—
it sinks the roots into the deep darkness,
holding fast when your strength gives out.
For even in the quietest valley,
the Father is listening in the deep.
He does not leave you in the shadow,
and the God who hears in the dark
will carry you into the light.
Triumphant to mature with growth-delight
Let’s pursue against selfish nature-blight…
Vanquishing greed midst arrogant culture’s height
Let’s care and share as we feature kindness’ sprite…
Steadfast upon truth-posture midst mercy-filled light
Let’s show compassionate gesture along sharing flight…
While basking in well-being’s nurture against ailment fright
Let’s smite frustration’s torture by engaging in meaningful fight…
Enjoying good lecture about nutritious bite
Let’s feast on diet’s riches that picture triumphant sight…
Keeping on along faith’s venture of prayerful might
Let’s glow with love-brightened stature day and night…
HopefuI for transformation with renewed vesture to do right
Let’s thank God*, our life’s Source, being His divine creature, heavenly bright.
* In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
July 1, 2026
1st place, "Ambition Or Hope" Monorhyme Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Sotto Poet; judged on 7/15/2026.
Surging storm swarms in the shattered sky,
traces tormenting terror in frantic air flowing by.
The whispering wind of joy knows not why
it should face the ruthless turbulence of despair nigh.
Afflicting anger in the spiteful mind flares up high,
smolders the sullen life to make extant ember fly.
The anguished ashes drift away, failing to find nearby
the solace of benign hope, the heart doesn’t comply.
Harrowing haze clutches the hidden horizon to mystify,
spreading the shroud of gloom in the ambiance awry.
Away from the veiled sun the charcoal clouds glide sly,
hoping from dark a bright day will appear, they’ll descry.
Seething sorrow makes marooned mind to silently sigh,
permeates pain in heart plunged in misery by and by.
Agony rescinds as divine touch illumines the soul to rely,
in blessed life’s sanctum sedate hope weaves bliss to lie.
Time is only lost when it is forsaken and love in hand is bound by mercy,
For sickness is sweet when the mind is blind,
And what’s controlled in contempt is compromised in vain,
as the enemy is wine if your heart is empty like the sky of a starless night,
for what’s kept close in sin is held in secret,
just like gold as the fool's dream as true blood is pondered not,
The painted wing becomes man’s lust as the taste of victory is better in the arms of fate as the twilight,
And a winter rose is sun-kissed even if it’s swallowed by December’s shame,
So be it in blood,
For what’s sought is bestowed by the Father as the glass hand of fire’s ring,
For what matters most is faith in mystery as the future foretold,
Because what’s benign and blameless in regard is unfound in resolve when equating to the morality of the bleeding sun’s revenge,
And what’s conceived in whim is seen by passing eyes burning in the grave…
An Incantation for the Well
I drop fifty pence from my heart
Into the well, wishing and hoping
For my heart's desire.
May you hear my call
Sire Marcus Baracus
And grant me my request.
From deep within my hopeful heart,
A silver coin is cast apart.
Into the wishing well it falls,
To answer what my spirit calls.
Hear my plea this sacred night,
And bring my true desire to light.
Find a physical token: Use a clean 50p coin.
Charge the coin: Hold it tight while visualizing your wish.
Hide the coin: Place it inside a small velvet pouch or a wooden box.
Choose the location: Keep it at the back of a drawer or under your mattress.
Leave it alone: Do not touch or spend the coin while waiting for results.
How to cast a magic ring for protection
Make a circle of salt in the forest
Light four candles:
green for north, yellow for east, red for south and blue for west.
A bowl of fresh clean water
A tree branch to touch the bowl when asking for purification
Walk round circle clockwise
Chant to the Spirit
What it is you will.
You may visualise this.
Then imagine a gift for the spirit
Sire Marcus Barracus.
A spell of Protection from souls from Hell.
From my blazing cauldron,
I draw the sacred iron of absolute warding,
Glass shard, and salt.
To bind the shattered fate of my enemy.
He throws his full fury against my gates,
Yet his desperate siege crumbles into ash.
Plunging blindly through the very thresholds of ruin,
He falls into the dark abyss he opened
To pay his final, bleeding debt.
Gather glass, metal and salt and lay in corner of door.
Make the spell and imagine a gift for Sire Marcus Barracus.
Woven in Wax and Heart
A flickering wick in the velvet dark,
I chase the light, a tiny spark.
Through golden fields and frozen rain,
To find the peace and hope.
I offer up a candles glow,
To unlock stories from long ago.
From wax and flame, a gift is spun
A woven cape like the rising sun.
But cloth and colour are only part,
I give a gift from my heart.
For every spirit, a friend Marcus found new,
Dressed in the light you share with me.
Evil spirits rotting thoughts
Evil spirit heard a happy thought going by
Trapped in the house where it departed
It twisted the joy into a jagged blade,
Dipped in shadows and pride.
It drove that spike through the victim’s ear,
And it nested deep in the brain.
The man thought he was losing his mind,
As he listened to the whispers of pain.
But it wasn't madness or a wandering wind,
That made his skin turn cold.
It was the spirit, feeding on his light,
Until the story was told.
Whatever you feel, I hope it inspires your being. Blessings.
Feels like home
By Michelle Morris
25/04/2026
Feels like home
Feels like home
Holds your heart
Feels like home
Feels like love
Feels like love
Holds your heart
Feels like love
Feels like hope
Feels like hope
Holds your soul
Feels like hope
Feels like joy
Feels like joy
Holds your soul
Feels like joy
Feels like peace
Feels like peace
Holds your being
Feels like peace
Feels like faith
Feels like faith
Holds your being
Feels like faith
© Michelle Morris, 2026
Enlightenment the movement upwards to unify all polarities.
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Trod along—walk on—these trails are trials,
Thankful, faithful—for manna, for quails.
The books of law, of grace, of hymns,
Carried onward with praise like the seraphim’s.
Marching beyond where roads cease to lead,
Joy his pillow, praise the feast, souls to feed.
With a triumphant will—preach on! Hope is the sum
of decades endured—unwavering—a day will come.
Man enough to be man—humble to be of God,
In richer, in poorer, when all comes to naught.
Yet never forsaken—he sings songs of victory,
Held in the favor of the God of eternity.
Not every blossom greets the sun,
Nor every triumph shouts it's won.
Some flowers bloom in silent grace,
Unseen by crowds, yet touched by faith.
They grow in corners most forget,
Where pain and prayer and love have met.
And though no stage may hold their name,
They burn with soft, eternal flame.
So let them bloom, those quiet souls,
Unpraised by fame, yet deeply whole.
For heaven sees what earth looks past—
The unseen bloom, the ones that last.
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