What is a man?

ChrisCamaro likes his car but sometimes he does wander far. To stretch his mind as best he can and answer well, What is a man?


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Endlessly he tires for hearth and home.

His muscles strain, his bones creak.


He stands stoically against the threats of the world, fearful but decided.

To protect what matters most, at any cost and against all odds.


As night falls, this sentinel retires.

Lightly does he sleep, ever vigilant.

As morning breaks, his body is renewed by the fire of another day.


Great burdens does he shoulder to be strong when others are not.

But gravity pulls great burdens, greatly.

Sadness and regret permeate flesh that writhes beneath a surface of tempered steel.



Poorly understood, precariously balanced, he falters often.

Awkwardly he bears his shame.

The cycles, cruel and relentless.



Little does he ask but the warm breast of a woman.

In the privacy of his den he confides in her, without speaking a word.

She wipes the grime from his quivering soul with soft coos and tender caress.

Her loving gaze, sustaining elixir, fills him to overflowing.



Little does he ask but the bright eyes of a young boy.

Like lenses, they focus and etch his light.

How easy to burn holes, but vivid patterns are carved of trust and love.



His flesh will fail but he will never die.

Men do not die of old age but of a broken heart.

For their essence, their resolve, are built not upon stone, but upon hope.

That the best parts of themselves will endure forever.


-ChrisCamaro



Poem recited by Richard Stibbard