The Martyrdom of Men

In the dim light of breaking day,

A man rises, weary, from where he lay,

Bones creak, muscles strain,

Bearing the weight of ceaseless pain.

He stands, swaying in morning's hush,

Eyes clouded, dreams turned to dust,

Steps falter, yet he presses on,

Each movement, a testament to stresses drawn.

The room spins, a dizzy dance,

Staggering onward, lost in trance,

Legs tremble, knees grow weak,

The floor beneath begins to creak.

Hands reach out, grasping air,

No support found, no solace there,

Stumbling forward, breathless sigh,

A man determined, refusing to lie.

But the burden grows, strength wanes,

An endless loop of aches and pains,

A martyrdom, silent, profound,

In every step, sorrow found.

The world narrows to a pinprick of light,

Vision blurs, succumbed to night,

A final stumble, a gasped breath,

A fragile life, surrendered to death.

In stillness, silence reigns,

Marking the end of ceaseless strains,

A man, a martyr, lost to time,

In the quiet of dawn, his final chime.

No grand farewell, no gentle part,

Just the stilling of a weary heart,

In this emptiness where silence screams,

The martyrdom of men, ending dreams.

what on the world

I feel much better now!

It's beautiful existentialist poetry. To find meaning is not easy. Life is indeed very fragile.

Great one

You wrote this ? Just curious

Quiet, my boy, quiet please.

Deep one haha nice

Thanks a lot.

I feel this way, all day, every day. Guess I must be very deep.