The Weight He Carries

He's up before the sun, boots on the floor. Coffee's Burnt,

but he's out the door. Hands been rough since he was a kid.

Learned early how to handle what life gives. Truck needs gas, lights past due.

He don't complain, just makes it through. Keeps his head down,

shoulders wide. Carries the load, swallows pride. They see the calm,

not the storm. They feel the heat, not where it's born.

If he breaks, who's standing tall? So he locks it up, carries it all.

He don't say a word, but it's heavy inside. Built like a