No Will To Rise And Fight
The world a stage, where shadows play my fear.
No spark of joy, no will to rise and fight,
Just empty halls where laughter used to light.
A man, they say, of grit and muscle strong,
Yet fragile threads to which I now belong.
My foolish steps, a path I chose to tread,
Have led me here, where hope seems almost dead.
The cloak of pride, a shield now worn too thin,
Conceals the cracks where sorrow seeps within.
Consequences, a serpent's cold embrace,
I built this cage, this lonely, hollow space.
But wait, a whisper, faint beneath the storm,
A tiny spark, a will to keep me warm.
Though darkness reigns, a truth I hold so dear,
This is not the end, there's brighter light to steer.
For even ruins hold a hidden grace,
A chance to mend, to find a stronger base.
With gentle steps, with tears that cleanse and heal,
I'll rise again, a purpose I will feel.
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