He learned too young what trembling means,
how daylight shakes when the mind is scared.
He walked through years of shadowed scenes
where every breath felt unprepared.
The world around him carried on,
but inside him storms refused to cease.
His nights were long,
his courage drawn
thin as paper, thin as peace.
He lived in rooms where silence pressed
against his ribs like something cruel.
Where fear became a constant guest
and peace a distant, flickering jewel.
He searched for hands that might have held
the shaking of his inner sky,
for voices gentle, calm, and spelled with warmth enough to let him cry.
But comfort never found his door,
and loneliness became his name.
He wandered halls of “nevermore,”
and wondered if he’d feel the same forever —
trapped in aching thought, in memories that burned and spun,
in battles no one ever fought beside him, no, not a single one.
Yet still he rises, day by day, with quiet strength he doesn’t see.
A sad young man who learned the way to carry pain with dignity.
And though his heart is worn and sore,
and though the trauma left its mark,
there lives in him a something more —
a small, persistent, stubborn spark
that waits for gentler years to come,
for softer nights, for safer hands.
A sad young man, but not undone.
A soul still trying to withstand.