Pulling Me Back

I am tired, not of walking, but of the weight,  

The endless turning of life’s heavy gate.  

A cycle of striving, of falling, of fight,  

Where morning brings battles, and sleep steals the night.  

I am tired, not of trying, but of the lack,  

Of roads leading forward, then pulling me back.  

Each step feels like sinking in soft, shifting sands,  

A journey unyielding to worn, calloused hands.  

I am tired, not of hope, but of its cost,  

Of building, rebuilding, from all that is lost.  

A spark in the dark feels so faint, so unkind,  

When shadows of doubt wrap their threads through my mind.  

Yet tired as I am, I will not lay still,  

For deep in my chest burns a flicker of will.  

A quiet reminder, though heavy the night,  

That even the weary can kindle the light.  

So I’ll rest, I’ll breathe, let this moment unwind,  

For strength can be born in the stillness I find.