The night folds like a tired cat.
Life isn't easy, no damn surprise.
Each corner hides another bad joke.
But still, we crawl through the dust.
Perseverance tastes like stale bread.
Confidence? A drunk dream at dawn.
The mirror mocks, yet we stare.
We are cursed to keep building fire.
Gifted, they say, like a wounded dog.
Something burns beneath the gray sky.
A whisper, a pulse, a fierce itch.
Doubt claws, but can't kill the flame.
The bones creak, the heart stumbles.
But stubborn fools, we keep moving on.
Belief wraps its fist around our throat.
Some things must be, no matter the fight.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: February 16th, 2026 04:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 39
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Friendship, Paul Bell, Thomas W Case, Efrain Cajar
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Comments4
Most poetic and well written with great images and metaphor it defines defiance in the face of hopelessness. Lovely and a fave Gray. Decided to post my poem that resembles in some way yours of yesterday
Thanks Soren I appreciate your feedback
You are most welcome Gray
Well written. Your poem addresses the struggles of life, the persistence of hope, and the inner strength that drives individuals to keep moving forward despite challenges and self-doubt.
Thanks for sharing your feedback
As humans, we persevere, no matter what it seems, even if life still kicks us down and down.
Martyrs to the cause as they lower you into the grave, though, tomorrow is another day.
Hey, my friend, this grips me by the collar—gritty and unflinching, like walking barefoot on broken glass.
You’ve got that stubborn ember burning through the gray, refusing to die, and I feel every damn step.
Thank You my brother your feedback means a lot to me
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