Aegis Vistoria Penumbra

Aegis Vistoria Penumbra Aug 9

I hope you didn’t come here,
To be satisfied,
By pretty words so plain.

I do not entertain.
I share the experience,
No matter how profane.

Did you suffer?
Was it a burden?
Do you regret not seeking entertainment,
In prettier things?

Those who started at the beginning,
Why did you stay,
Until the end of this temporary gaze,
Into what persists for eternity?

Fate got what she wanted. She has all his attention.
The Wind got what he wanted. Oblivion remembers the beloved.
Alcyone and Ceyx got what they wanted. They’ve been reunited.

Everyone got what they wanted.

Does that make this a happy ending?

Or was it,

Too unsatisfying?

Were you hoping for someone to pay?

Were you hoping for a victory?

Did you,

Get what you wanted?

Could we say the journey was worth it,
For this fleeting glimpse into eternity,
Where the story does not please,
Where it repeats with little progress made,
Towards that resolution, indefinitely delayed?

Everyone got what they wanted.

But no one is happy.

So tell me,

Is this still a happy ending?

Then what does it mean?
What did they expect?
They got what they can.

If that’s not enough,
Then shame on them,
For being such idealists.

Ungrateful brats.
I’m sure some would argue that.

This is the best they can have.
No resolution, no justice, no revenge.
Just a legacy filled with inaccuracy.

Together at last,
Free to do as they may,
But not as they please.

Is that the compromise?
To be free to choose,
When there is only,
One choice?

But they all,

Got what they wanted.

BUT NO, NOT LIKE THIS.

They got what they wanted.

But no one is happy.

So can we say,

This is a happy ending,

Or not?

It doesn't matter.
Just that it's over.

Except, it's not.
Only for us.

Not even for us,
Not when we return to reality,
And we all see,
It is us trapped in this cycle repeating.

Go and search for your own answers,
In what's real and what's not,
Through joy and through pain,
They are all the same.

Reflect and recall, who does the thinking.
Reflect and reclaim, who does the talking.

Stop gazing upon their story.

It will go on,

Like this,

Forever.

But you,
Are not forever.

Your gaze is needed elsewhere.

THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANTED.
THEY ALL GOT WHAT THEY WANTED.

IT'S A HAPPY ENDING.
ISN'T IT A HAPPY ENDING AFTER ALL?

THEY DO AS THEY MAY. I WRITE AS I SEE FIT.
I DID WHAT I NEEDED, BUT NOT WHAT I WANTED.

YOU GOT WHAT I GAVE.
ARE YOU ENTERTAINED?

I TOLD THE STORY AS IT HAPPENED.
YOU READ IT WITH YOUR OWN FREEDOM.

THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANTED.
YET WHERE IS OUR HAPPY ENDING?

WHAT WAS THE POINT,
IF NOT FOR A HAPPY ENDING?

WELL, I’M NOT THE ENTERTAINER,
I’M JUST THE REPEATER.

YOU'VE REACHED THE END OF YOUR JOURNEY,
BUT NOT YOUR DESTINATION,
BECAUSE IT DOESN’T EXIST.

I’M NOT THE ENTERTAINER,
I’M JUST THE REPEATER,
AND I’VE GIVEN MY WITNESS STATEMENT.

SO TAKE ALL YOUR DISPLEASURE BACK,
TO THE WORLD FROM WHICH YOU’VE FLED,
AND CAST UPON THAT WORLD, ALL YOUR JUDGMENT.

I’VE REPEATED THIS STORY SO YOU WILL NOT REPEAT THIS TRAGEDY.
BUT YOU WILL. YOU WILL.
BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A STORY. THIS IS REALITY.

I HAVE WITNESSED IT.

AGAIN. AND AGAIN. AND AGAIN.

SO YOU HAD BETTER LISTEN.

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/

Aug 8

Malcolm

Living Poetry is Real

Living Poetry isn’t just the pulse
it’s the shiver in the silence,
the breath that bends ever so slightly between chaos and clarity,
It's where rhythm forgets the rules
and emotion takes its own path through the wreck-stained longing.
It’s the shape of every buried cry,
and the stillness after that scream.

It doesn’t wear banners or declare itself aloud,
but spills from the wound unbandaged,
seeping quietly as whispers, warm as breath,
born screaming from every sinew wound scar you swore you'd never show,
when your entire body trembles beneath beauty’s weight,
scars and longing, those thoughts
and still, you write.

Originality isn’t invention you know but return
to the place in you no one else has lived,
no one else has felt,
no one knows
it's the place
where memory blooms like orchids in May or roses in June,
and each word steps soft into its own quiet ruin.
The page is no mere sanctuary,
only a looking glass,
reflecting the you inside the you,
and even that with light’s refraction distorts under truth.

You follow a resonance, not linear, but alive,
it breathes
woven through old hurts and the flash of joy, love, or pain
a rhythm that forgets its tempo just to feel.
Sometimes it bleeds.
Sometimes it sings.
Sometimes it does both in the same breath,
sometimes it’s a storm in your chest
or a lullaby no one else can hear.

Here, in this space
the poem doesn’t ask to be liked,
doesn’t need to be loved,
it doesn't even need to be read
it just asks to be real,
to come from where it's real
no matter if it's filled with butterflies
or a wreckage-drenched kiss,
To stand unguarded in the room, alive in essence
to hum beneath the colossal static of the world,
the fluttering of black ravens and white dove,
and remind you: this is not just art
it’s the aftermath of being human.
It’s what binds you back to the raw nerve of now,
It’s the filament that flickers when no one is watching.

Sharp while caring, always real
Like every morning sun
and first star in the evening sky
that sings truth to the moon.

07 August 2025
Living Poetry
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin

Aegis Vistoria Penumbra Aug 8

The Vanished May Never Return

The sea shouts, resists upon that miserable shore,
Her foam-split tongue convulses at my mind,
Yet I turn deaf to every meaningless roar.

Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
I’d run away with you where her tides cannot breach.
Would her pursuit fade if I ceased to exist?

I’d let her devour this world in savage spumes,
Then run away, hand in hand, chasing a new home.
If only your merciful heart could recoil beneath her glooms.

Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
Your merciful heart cannot bear humanity’s fall.
Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.

I know their freedom, their joy redeems our chained lament,
Yet how do we flee this boundless sea of briny tears?
How can I hush your sorrow when her chase claims all intent?

Would her pursuit fade if I ceased to exist?
Could I dissolve in your silence, become your still hush?
Would her pursuit fade if I ceased to exist?

I beg to dissolve into your hollow, gentle sphere,
Let me be nothing, your empty echo in the void,
So that her obsession may find no soul to seize here.

Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
I’d give you all I am, if you'd let me mirror your empty grace.
Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.

I am your cage, Fate’s storm raining on your arrest,
Erase me, an honor, to spare you tender tears,
Yet you refuse that solution, clinging still to my chest.

Would her pursuit fade if I ceased to exist?
But the universe grants me all forms, save the gift of true nothing.
Would her pursuit fade if I ceased to exist?

I tremble as the tide returns in her relentless song,
Yet in your arms I find my eternal, weeping home.
No hope remains, but in your hold I still belong.

Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
I would beg you to erase my essence if that meant your freedom.
Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.

The tide advances, still I drive her back beyond this unjust domain,
There is no need to fear, the future stands unforgivingly certain,
At least you’re safe, for in our bond we both remain.

Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
We share our souls, and in this bond at least you are safe.
Oh, beautiful Oblivion, you hold so much grief.
Even if I ceased to exist, she would still punish you instead.

This is,
Twenty-second,

This is,
The twenty-second,

This is,
The twenty-second apology.

This is,

This is,

This is the final glimpse,

Into 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

This is,

Where we part ways,

With the eternity,

That cannot be saved.

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/

Aug 7

Yashkrit Ray

The Overview Effect

A cognitive shift
Seeing the reality.
A state of awe
With transcendent quality.

When hit by the truth -
An overwhelming emotion.
Appreciation of beauty,
Increased sense of connection.

Shift in self-concept,
It could be transformative.
Sense of fragility
From a different perspective.

We are just tiny and random creatures in this vast expanse of the universe.

#ourtimecapsule #theovervieweffect #reality #selfconcept

Aug 7

Asuka

Under the sun, i’m just a candle

Under the sunlight, I am only a candle,
shaking in the arms of the slightest breeze.
It’s pretty—like youth they speak of in poems,
but it never lands the same on me.

Anger, comparison, insecurity—my heavy breath.
Tears and these headphones
are the only air I know how to breathe.

Loving myself—
harder than teaching fire to bow to the earth.
Gravity feels kinder than grace.

Yet in the caves where no one remembers the way,
I can still paint the dark in gold.
I can still make the cold feel warm.

I am needed.
I am loved.
Sometimes.

So tell me—
do I give my light to this moment,
spill every flame into the night,
or keep it sleeping in my chest,
fearing the day when morning arrives
with a sun too cruel to touch,
and a rain too tender to notice
when it drowns me?

"some lights aren’t afraid of darkness — just of running out."

#poetry #selfreflection #melancholythoughts #candlelight #mentalhealthpoetry #introvertenergy #aestheticpoetry #wordswithsoul