Eli Felt Everything

Eli was born on a winter’s breath,

A cry that danced with life and death.

His mother wept, his father prayed,

A fragile soul the world had made.

He grew in silence, soft and shy,

A dreamer with a distant eye.

While others laughed and chased the sun,

Eli walked when they would run.

He felt too much, too deep, too wide,

Emotions he could never hide.

A glance could break him, words could sting,

He bore the weight of everything.

At school they called him “weird” and “slow,”

He’d write in verse, not prose, you know.

While others played with sticks and stones,

He built his world in whispered tones.

His mother said, “You’re made for more,

Don’t let them lock your open door.”

But Eli feared the world outside,

So he stayed small, and lived inside.

Then came June, a girl named Rae,

Who saw his soul in shades of gray.

She didn’t laugh, she didn’t tease,

She spoke in poems, moved like breeze.

They shared their scars, their secret fears,

Their broken dreams, their silent tears.

She kissed his hand, not just his face,

And made his heart a sacred place.

But love, like fire, can burn too bright,

And Rae was chasing endless light.

She left one dawn without goodbye,

And Eli learned how hearts can die.

He didn’t scream, he didn’t cry,

He simply watched the sky go dry.

His poems turned to ash and stone,

And Eli walked the world alone.

Years went by, the seasons spun,

Eli aged but never won.

He worked, he ate, he slept, he breathed,

But never truly felt relieved.

He saw the world in muted hues,

In coffee cups and worn-out shoes.

He’d smile at dogs, avoid the crowd,

And speak in whispers, never loud.

One day he found a note, unsigned,

Tucked in a book he’d long declined.

It read: “To feel is not a curse,

It’s what gives life its sacred verse.”

He paused, he blinked, he read again,

And something stirred beneath the pain.

He walked outside, the sky was blue,

And Eli felt the morning too.

He wrote again, not just for Rae,

But for the ones who lost their way.

For kids who cry and men who break,

For hearts that bend but never fake.

He posted poems, shared his soul,

And strangers made his spirit whole.

They said, “You speak the words I hide,”

“You make me feel like I’ve not died.”

Eli smiled, not wide, but true,

And knew his pain had purpose too.

He wasn’t healed, but he was seen,

A poet born from in-between.

He met a girl, not Rae, but kind,

With laughter loud and open mind.

She didn’t fix him, didn’t try,

She simply let his spirit fly.

They danced in rain, they fought, they grew,

They built a life from what was true.

And Eli learned that love’s not flight,

It’s staying close through darkest night.

He taught his son to feel, not fear,

To hold his heart and keep it near.

To cry when hurt, to laugh when glad,

To speak the truth, both good and bad.

And when he died, they read his name,

In poems etched with love and flame.

A man who felt, who dared to be,

Who turned his pain to poetry.