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A baby is born

branded for big things

A bright-eyed sapling

destined for greatness

Does his parents think

a second about his wants?

 

The boy is doused

with fuel of high

expectations and burned in

the bright flame of failure

The boy dies and

from the ashes

rises the wingless phoenix

of a bitter man

 

He struggles to stand

straight under the back

breaking weight of his world

he strives to support

A modern-day Atlas

battered down like dough

 

Ceases to smile

willing himself to

go the extra mile

greys prematurely

ages gracelessly

He becomes an old man

withered and shrivelled

Is he even fifty?

 

The rat race of the

world chews him and spits

out a broken toy

full of aches and aches

 

He retires and

at last, he can put up

his feet in the sun

Or, can he?

The race has a new runner

His son.

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