We live in the state of Exhaustion,
In the town called Pain on Soreness Lane,
Where every step is a negotiation
With muscles that forget their refrain.
Our neighbors are Dystonia and Tremors.
Dystonia twists the morning routine,
While Tremors rattles coffee cups
And makes handwriting barely seen.
The mayor is a dictator called Parkinson’s,
Who rewrites the laws each passing day,
Stealing smooth movements from our bodies,
Making simple tasks slip away.
Down the street lives Rigidity,
Who locks our joints in concrete stance,
While bradykinesia moves so slowly,
We miss the rhythm of life’s dance.
Executive Dysfunction runs the office,
Scattering plans like autumn leaves,
Where simple choices become mountains,
And thoughts slip through mental sieves.
The postal worker – Balance – stumbles,
Delivering uncertainty to each door,
And Sleep, our once faithful companion,
Now visits less than before.
But in this town, we’ve learned adaptation,
Building bridges over trembling ground,
Creating new paths through the struggle,
Where unexpected strength is found.
We’ve discovered that courage isn’t
The absence of this daily fight.
It’s choosing to keep moving forward
Despite the dimming of our light.
In the state of Exhaustion we reside,
On Soreness Lane, we make our stand,
But we are more than our addresses.
We are warriors, hand in hand.
