The Weary Harvest of Approval

In the furnace heat of summer’s haze,

I bent beneath the sun's cruel gaze,

A child with heavy hands that toil,

To win the praise, to earn the spoil.

My mammy’s voice, my daddy’s pride,

Grew louder still, my soul to guide.

Yet in their eyes I sought to see,

A love that never quite reached me.

Each Christmas morn, with trees adorned,

A gap remained, a soul still mourned.

Like a barn with cracks through which the wind doth blow,

I lacked a peace I longed to know.

For gifts, though many, could not conceal

The aching need that I could not heal.

The hunt for worth in all I’d done

Left little light beneath the sun.

The clock struck on, with weary hand,

I danced to tunes they’d never planned.

Like a mule that pulls ‘til legs give way,

I toiled each hour, I burned each day.

But where, oh where, is the sweet release,

From the crushing weight that will not cease?

Each test I passed, each step I took,

I sought approval in each look.

Beneath the oak, in evening’s shade,

I dreamed of simpler days unmade.

A child of joy, not fret or fear,

Yet found the light was never near.

Like sugarcane that rots too fast,

My spirit wilts, unable to last.

For in the race, I lost my way,

And in the striving, went astray.

The holidays, with all their cheer,

Hold memories bitter, laced with tears.

Each piece of joy, a puzzle undone,

A silent ache beneath the sun.

And in my chest, where warmth once lay,

There’s nothing but a cold decay.

For what is glory, if it hides

The simple love that truth confides?

So I sit here, weary, all alone,

A soul that seeks but never’s shown,

Yearning for a kinder sun,

A place to rest when work is done.

For in the eyes of those I please,

I find no peace, no sweet release.

In chasing dreams, I lost my way—

I dimmed the light of brighter days.