It starts as a tiny prick, not even a scratch.
It comes and goes at first, but grows familiar.
Then it’s a constant, and soon, a strain.
With some relaxation, it stops. Nothing to worry about.
As it visits more often, the strain aches and spreads.
This time, few things make it fade. Relief, now, is a stranger.
Working through it becomes a habit.
Working through it feels like the only choice.
With people to see and jobs to do, what else can be done?
With all the needs to be met, what else can be done?
When calls for aid go unheeded, what else can be done?
Then the pain breaks body and soul, leaving one to cry.
Cry for help, for solace, for dreams unfulfilled.