Dreams Turn To Stone
Strength in his stride, no room for regrets.
Yet beneath the surface, a silent despair,
Empty pockets, a soul laid bare.
The whispers linger, sharp as the wind,
"Provide, protect," the creed of his kin.
But what of the nights when dreams turn to stone,
When he wrestles the dark, utterly alone?
He carries the burden, unseen, untold,
A heart that aches, a spirit bold.
Not for himself, but for those in his care,
He builds castles of hope from thin, fragile air.
Oh, cruel weight of what it means to be,
A provider bound by society’s decree.
Yet know this truth, though fortune may wane,
The worth of a man is not tied to his gain.
Rise, O soul, from the ashes of strife,
For value is more than a monetary life.
In kindness, in love, in dreams that persist,
The measure of worth will always exist.
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