The Man

The Man short poem

Photo by h.koppdelaney

Every day in his life was hell,
Repercussions he could hardly spell.
He endured drudgery to pay his bills,
No time for Netflix and chills.
Man, he never had the privilege of peers,
His world was always shrouded by petulant jeers.
One day, in his lonely hour,
Blurry thoughts running Sweet n’ Sour,
The Man knew he could take no more,
Cuz’ the body Blows had rattled his core.
“I won’t bend my back,
Cuz’ I ain’t low, Jack”,
His freckled and torn enigma muttered,
As the Angels and Demons inside him clashed and cluttered.
So, He vowed to fight and strive to rise,
Swift like a Falcon, but cold as ice.
That day onwards, seldom did he crouch,
Nor did his recuperated soul slouch.
He worked till he rolled around in a Benz,
His existence finally began to make sense.
Not a soul cared for the lad at his worst,
Now bright lights n’ Paparazzi storm his lobby,
Cuz’ now, He’s at his best.
The Man was finally ‘man’ enough.

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Mark Ephraim

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Football fan. Writing is a part of life. Sports blog writer. An enthusiastic poet at times. Read my works here!
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