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A flame once thrived on outer heat,
In comfort’s arms, its life complete.
It danced on winds, so wild, so free,
Unknowing warmth could ever flee.

It never learned to guard its core,
Believed the warmth would ever pour
The world had fed its every spark,
And lit its path through every dark

But one still day, the skies turned gray,
The winds grew cold and pulled away
The warmth it knew slipped out of sight,
And left the flame to face the night

It gasped for warmth, for hands, for light,
But frost had chained its wings in flight
Its hues grew pale, its spark withdrew,
A golden heart turned cold and blue

It tried to shout, but none replied,
No flame to spark, no light to guide
It fought to burn but lost the fight,
Now flickered weak in ash and night

Deep in the dark, a whisper grew,
A hidden beat no one once knew
A memory kept, by heart it's known,
A spark that glows when all alone.

In that silence, a spark was born,
A brand-new blaze, untouched, untorn.
No sun, no wind could feed its flame,
It burned alone untamed, aflame.

It shed the wish for borrowed light,
And made its warmth against the night.
Not just to live, but to ignite,
And turn the freeze to glowing white

The cold around began to shift,
Its biting edge began to lift.
The flame, now still but burning deep,
Had taught the dark itself to weep.

And as the frost began to fade,
A dance of light and shadow played.
For even in the coldest night,
The smallest flame can birth the light.
Ali Hassan May 15
A silent knight who rode through flames,
Fought the war he could not tame.
He knew the end before the start,
But duty burned within his heart.

He fought not for the songs or fame,
Nor dreamed of honor, nor sought a name.
He fought because the path was made
A road of fire he could not evade.

His back is bent, his breath is weak,
No strength to rise, no words to speak.
Still on his knees, he won’t let go
His sword still burns with steady glow

With trembling hands, he plants it deep,
A spine of steel his soul will keep.
Though body crushed, he stands upright,
A shattered man, but still a knight.

You see defeat when you stare,
Yet did you sense the fear there?
He’s lost the war—but he feels none.
For in his fall… the fight was won.
CJ Sutherland May 15
As a newbie, we are unaware
We go through life as if we care
Incompetent inept go here or there
Thinking that we know it all
Inevitably comes the fall

Then we slowly realize
As it begins, the End
of our demise
we didn’t compromise

However, it’s more
Than just the fall.
We thought
We were
Impervious
10 feet tall.

The older we get
The more we realize
The ignorant follies
Of the less wise

Pride before the fall
Comes towards us all
We paid no mind
To the warnings call

Greed, Lust,
A wild ride
Envy Wrath
Look inside
Gluttony, Sloth,
Our  Guilty Pride

Don’t let this list
Be your guide

It’s OK not to know everything
It’s OK to be a teen in between
It’s OK to misread a panic scene
It’s OK to admit your wrong

Do the dance,
Sing the song
Don’t act wise,
Apologize

Pretending
you know it all
Inevitably
The jig is up

Never ready For the call
Will you learn the lesson
of the fall
knowing you don’t
know anything at all.

There is always
a lesson.
To endure
It’s OK not to be sure
we were all
once an amateur

The difference between
a young adult
Sprung on life
And a middle aged
Disillusion lost soul
Is  our experiences

The lessons learned
When It’s your turn
To be on top
Oblivious
Ignorant
Acceptance

There will be a time
When you’re not
It’s not how high
You climb

It’s how you endure
After the fall
Wisdom
comes to us all
Will you ignore it?
Or answer Life’s call

Inspired songs;

My life 1978
Billy Joel

Don’t fear the reaper 1976
Blue Oyster Cult

Signs 1971
By  Five Electrical Band

Bridge over troubled Waters 1970
By Simon and Garfunkel

Both sides now 1969
By Joni Mitchell


Foot note
This was written for a seventh grade grandchild going through life on stress levels. She creates herself. She says this to herself now it’s OK to be wrong. I don’t have to know everything.
I’ve always said to the grandchildren, you have two ears, and one mouth listen twice as much as you speak
BLT Websters word of the day challenge
May 15, 2025 impervious
Impervious describes that which does not allow something such as water to enter or pass through it also used formally to me, not bothered or affected by something. Both senses of impervious are used with to.
Ahmed Gamel Apr 18
From ashes, I rise, no crown, no name,
Forged in fire, untamed by shame.
Each fall, a step, each scar, a light,
In darkness, I carve my endless fight.

I seek no praise, no fleeting fame,
I burn within, I am my flame.
Not for the weak, nor for the crowd—
I rise alone, unbroken, proud.

The world may tremble, the storm may roar,
But I will stand, forever more.
For strength is born from deepest pain,
And through the loss, I’ll rise again.
I noticed that the original Golden, I Rise didn’t receive the recognition I hoped for, so I took it upon myself to refine the message. This new version, Unyielding, is a more focused, powerful expression of the core philosophy I’ve been striving to convey. It's direct, and every word is crafted to emphasize resilience, inner strength, and the relentless drive to rise above adversity. I believe this captures the essence of what I wanted to say in a clearer, more impactful way.
Damocles Apr 15
Tasting pungent, brackish tears,
Never satisfied with the depthless darkness,
Tenebrous fingers reaching from the inside out,
Spreading fingers from my chest resemble an autumnal oak,
Leafless and outstretched, yearning for a new death.
And the light, so certain, could set it ablaze,
With its auroral gleam, yet the darkness persists,
Like caramel or toffee,
Glued in with a sickly, messy adhesion.
I yearn to self-immolate, burning as a phoenix,
Shedding these acrimonious ashes and burning like a beacon,
An emancipation from the amorphous tar tendrils,
And a new embrace into the cleansing sun.
no matter how bad it looks, how dark and depressing it gets, the sun has to and will always shine again.
Damocles Apr 14
If these tainted deeds and misgivings are etched in my blood,
Then please, take them to me like a maple tree.
Tap into my veins and drain the ichor.
Let its sticky black residue confine your lungs to heavy, heaving breaths.
Then, you can tell me the weight I carry.

If sickness is pre-determined, and my mind is meant to bend and break,
Then pierce my eye with your pick and hammer.
Chisel ego into id and supersize its purpose.
Until my destiny is marbled like the rarest steak,
Cook me until I am less raw.
Like unforgiving nerves exposed to the cold, slow thaw.

Fate does not choose me. I deny it the grace of a salutation.
I choose my destiny by way of destination. Of my choosing.
See, I like to spin the globe, throw a dart upon a map,
And roam where the tip lands.
To carve an unbeaten path.
I am my own master, beholden to none other.
No god, petty demon, or fallen angel.
Not a pious man, nor a shrewd woman could tame the force within me.
I am the whirlwind.
You are not a burden, you are not weird because you don't fall in line, you are not your family's mistakes or traumas, you are you. You are a force you didn't even know existed. Be the whirlwind, shake up your status quo, be more because you are more.
Malcolm Mar 11
Who am I?
Not formed of parts,
but a fracture,
splintered by the weight of forgotten names,
the weight of nothing.

An assembly of fragments
swallowed by echoes,
sunk into the hollow of things never spoken.

TIME, split by fire, veins dripping with prophecy,
shivering in the hollow,
a forgotten scream,
shouting at empty rooms
(what have we become? WHAT?)

THE BODY, bent under the weight of hunger,
muscles wrapped in rust,
aching for truth
that is never here.

DESIRE, liquid and restless,
eating away the flesh of tomorrow,
always reaching, always breaking
(Is this life? Is this all?)

HANDS, cracked and bleeding,
trying to hold what was never meant to be held,
they tremble,
they grasp,
they tear
(why does it never stay?)

THE VOID, speaking in whispers,
it swallows everything—
truths, lies, your name, my name,
they are gone, reduced to ash,
all of us slipping through its fingers.

FATHER, who is a shadow,
MOTHER, who is a wound,
SISTER, who is silence,
BROTHER, who is a scream

THE SCARRED WOMAN, draped in nothingness,
her skin a memory,
her breath a cold wind,
blowing through the cracks,
and she—disappears.

I,
nothing but a witness to my own unraveling
staring into the chaos,
grasping at pieces
I will never understand.

And still, I stand.
Broken.
Unfinished.
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
March 2025
SHATTERED & UNNAMED
dead poet Feb 18
men of endurance
will often take the back seat -
they’re driven by poise.
Andy Chunn Feb 17
Just who we are, we may not know
We’ve traveled far, but more to go
I think we’re lost, but maybe not
At any cost, use what we’ve got

Report the time, and send the mail
Stop on a dime, when ideas fail
We lost the day, we cost the man
What will we say, do what we can

It seems to me, no matter what
Some things will be, some things will not
You search and seek, try not to fail
The boat may leak, but on we sail

So busy life, goes on each day
With daily strife, we find our way
It’s never clear, we’re never sure
With trembling fear, we will endure
Syafie R Jan 31
I return a hero,
but the victory
is buried in my skin—
cold sweat,
thick as blood,
as a grave.

3:47 AM,
The door creaks open,
the old hinges groaning—
boots pounding closer,
each step like a drumbeat,
bringing a cold shiver
that claws down my spine.

Then—
silence.

A scream cuts the night,
the daughter,
the mother,
they want me—
drag me back
to that blood-soaked hell,
where nothing survives,
where life is torn apart.

Warplanes split the sky,
tanks rumble in my chest—
the taste of rust,
the heat of gunfire,
the smell of flesh burning,
of metal tearing through bone.

l open my eyes,
and I'm surrounded—
the bodies of my brothers,
their faces smashed into the earth,
eyes wide,
mouths frozen in screams.
The stench is choking,
the blood thick,
pooling like a dark sea around us.

The Nazis—
they don't stop—
shooting the fallen
to make sure no one rises.
I feel the shot in my gut,
but I'm still here—
I wait my turn.

I close my eyes.

And then—
l open them.
Still here.
4:01 AM.
I survived.
Barely.
My heart goes out to anyone who has faced this kind of pain. You are not alone. The weight you carry is real, but survival is strength. Healing takes time, and though it may feel far off, it is possible. You matter. Keep moving forward, even if just a step at a time. You are not defined by your scars.
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