Adalyn Alcott Poet Lyric

Softly Wounded

There is a grief that whispers, not a cry,
A subtle ache beneath a practiced eye.
It does not shatter, bleed, or loudly break,
But shifts the self in every small mistake.

We honor storms that split the sky in two,
Yet miss the quiet fractures passing through—
A pause too long, a smile held too tight,
A dimming edge we overlook in light.

For wounds may bloom in silence, slow and thin,
A hidden crack that deepens from within.
No witness stands, no sirens claim the night,
Just inward fading, out of mind and sight.

So tread with care in every passing face,
Each soul a ledger time cannot erase.
The deepest pain may never speak, nor show—
It softens first, and no one sees it grow.

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Alison A Smith June 6, 2026 at 11:40 PM The deepest pain may never speak, nor show— It softens first, and no one sees it grow. The cracks can seem hidden but one day a misplaced word or action can see that crack split your world apart. Well written

Christopher Haywood May 23, 2026 at 4:09 AM Your expression is on-target. It's the little things we hide that that others are unaware of. So you never know how fragile one is from their outward expressions, but subtle change isn't always noted through gestures, or by facial recognition. What you say or do may be the trigger to...