Friendship

Silent Scrolls\" I don\'t care, I\'m always gonna shine.

I love how grown souls guard their verses like vaults,

With passwords woven from pride and defaults—

Their poems stand tall, a public display,

Yet one comment near? They lock the gate.

As if my words—soft, meant to confess—

Were trespassers knocking at their success?

As if a reply, a humble “I see,”

Could crack the foundation of their poetry.

They build glass houses of meter and rhyme,

Then ban the breath that might fog their time.

They post their hearts for the world to scan,

Then vanish—like ghosts—when you reach out, “Man…”

No dagger, no slander, just “Your line moved me so,”

But still, they retreat like the tide from the snow.

Blocking soft hands that only reached near—

Afraid praise might carry a whisper of fear.

What fortress of ego must poetry be,

Where empathy\'s threat is user privacy?

I love how they preach of the soul laid bare,

Then vanish like smoke in the thin online air.

So yes, I adore it—this digital snub,

The cowardly block with its petty thud.

For every “like” they collect and parade,

A silence they chose speaks louder than shade.

And though my comment may never appear,

This poem stands—unblocked—year after year.