The boastful heart, a fragile shell,
Where bravado hides an empty well.
A titan's mask, a paper crown,
Concealing fear that weighs them down.
They flex their might, in voice and fist,
A hollow show, a brittle tryst.
With dominance, their aim and plea,
To veil the doubt, "Is this all me?"
But strength unearned, a fleeting guise,
A house of cards built on weak lies.
True power sleeps in gentle souls,
Who conquer self, and make them whole.
Follow
For in the quiet, strength takes root,
Where kindness blooms, and bears good fruit.
The gentle touch, the listening ear,
These are the strengths that conquer fear.
So let the posers strut and preen,
Their hollow victories, a fleeting scene.
True power lies in open hands,
In empathy, where strength expands.