Description
Beneath the sun’s relentless glare,
They stand, these statues of despair.
Muscles bulging, veins on fire,
A fleeting grasp at mortal desire.
What use is might that does not bend?
What strength remains when ego’s end?
Each sinew, taut and purpose-lost,
Each fiber, bound by empty boast.
For in the end, when lights grow dim,
They’ll find no solace in their might.
So let them flex, these fleeting kings,
While life, with quiet laughter, sings.
