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You crafted a shrine for me,

adorned me with wings,

elevated and sacred, untouched by your secrets.

Your last chance at redemption,

a sanctuary where you hid from yourself.

Your perfect lie—

an illusion of salvation.

Once shattered, your adoration

twisted into disdain.

The hand that shaped my wings,

became the force that broke them.

And now, you watch me fall

from the heights you once placed me upon.


Yet I release you, I forgive you,

Love, a quiet thread that ties us still,

A spark woven into the fabric of time,

Never truly gone, but transformed,

gently fading

into the glow of what we were.

I return sometimes to those moments,

not with longing, but with reverence—

like that stolen kiss—

unexpected, breathless,

the words "I love you" spilling from me,

uncontainable, truthful,

your arms, holding me,

an electric hum between us.



This is how I'll hold us—

in the warmth of what we were,

not in the sorrow that followed.

When you remember me,

let it be the quiet depth of my love that remains,

the warmth of my hand resting softly on your

cheek,

the steady, unwavering gaze that held you,

unchanged by time.

Let that be what stays with you—

not the deafening silence that followed,

not the weight of what we lost,

but the light that we held, even just for a moment,

so close to perfect but fragile.

Not perfect enough.
Oh how we love the ones who can teach us both heaven and hell…
Nothing
Unless
Monday to Monday something
Bothers you.
It’s not really just nothing. Because that type of feeling is the most frustrating and awful part of pain. Feeling numb— getting cut by the thorn so many times, it just doesn’t hurt.
Falls.
Never gets up.
Falls.
Pretends it doesn’t hurt.
Falls.
Too much pride to accept.
Falls.
Stops trying— stays alert.

Falls. Falls. Falls.
And
Still
We
Get
Up
Again.
Hello, whom I'll never meet,
Never hear, never forget,
Never loose and never find,
Never spot and never mind.

Hello, who'll turn up in my dreams,
Who'll never let me to taste the pain,
Who'll never betray and never lie,
Who'll never depart without goodbye.

I take leave of you, my unknown one,
My unsearchable and remarked for none,
My unnamed and mythic for last,
But so endlessly and sweetly loved.
Thank you for reading this poem! 💖
The fact
That every single one of us here
Has our own

C
     o
        m
             p
                 i
                     l
                          i
                               c
                                     a
                                           t
                                                e
             ­                                          d  


lives, thoughts, ideas, experiences.

And that everyone here is just a stranger—
NPCs in our lives.
The only person who feels real is you.
You can never be in their shoes. Never.

But still, their life is as complicated as yours:
As vivid.
As complex.
As challenging.

All those people we pass by,
Their lives a colourful, multicoloured thread,
Woven together—
Yet it doesn’t seem so...
( 𝖓. ) 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖟𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖇𝖞 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖆 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖘 𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖝 𝖆𝖘 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓
Words come from the distant deep,
where silence hums and secrets sleep.
Thoughts that flicker, wild or meek,
drip like rain from the soul's dark beak.

They rise from marrow, not from air,
from bloodied dreams or whispered prayer.
Sometimes steep, a summit scream,
sometimes soft as a lullaby dream.

They ride on crows with razored wings,
or butterflies with silver strings.
Some arrive like axe-blade sighs,
some as tears in a child’s wide eyes.

They are born beneath the skin,
in quiet wars we hold within.
Lines crawl out through open scars,
stanzas shaped like fallen stars.

Married in unison — pulse and page,
they outlive time, they outgrow age.
A poem doesn’t end — it loops, it plays,
it’s sung through moonlight and firelit days.

Words don’t rot, they bloom and bite,
etched in ink or screamed at night.
They are rivers of chocolate, or ******-red,
they live when we are long past dead.

So write — with truth, with flame, with breath,
for poems cheat both time and death.
They touch the places no one sees,
they plant forever in the breeze.
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
June 2025
Where Poems Are Born
Wisdom comes in blurbs
One minute I'm spitting facts
The next I'm dry mouthed.
Politely I ask,
if I may please be excused,
from my own demise.
I could skip a heartbeat, and I would survive.
I could be in a car crash and still be alive.
The clouds could fall out of the sky.
The oceans could disappear and all turn dry.

These things in life are all bad, I know,
but there's far worse things, just thought you should know.

Life would not be the same without someone like you.
You're there when I need you to help me through.
Through the good times and through the bad,
Be them happy or be them sad.

I don't have to be with you to know you're there.
We don't have to see each other to know that we care.
We could be apart for years upon end
and still remain the best of friends.

Life goes on, and people change,
And through it all, our friendship shall remain the same.
That's such as life and how things come to be.
Just thought you should know how much you mean to me!
wish she knew she saved me from such awful things. i hope to be there for her in the way she is there for me ❤️
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