Pulling and Pulling

I pull and pull, the weight is great,

A burden heavy with stubborn fate.

The rope is taut, it digs in deep,

Each tug a battle, steep on steep.

Muscles strain, and breath runs short,

In this relentless, silent sport.

The earth resists, unyielding, firm,

As I pull, I twist, I squirm.

The end seems near, but never comes,

A task unending, like distant drums.

Hands grow weary, and grip grows thin,

But giving up would be a sin.

Until I find that hard-earned peace.