RE: Wilson Mak9 Nov 2025 08:01
“RoJo, the Doubter”
RoJo wakes beneath a gray-worn sky,
His breath a sigh that doesn’t try.
He sees the dawn, but not the gold—
Just the tired light, the air grown cold.
He walks where others speak of grace,
But hope finds no home in his face.
“Dreams are lies,” he likes to say,
“Painted clouds that rot away.”
Love to him’s a passing word,
An empty sound too often heard.
He scoffs at faith, he mocks at cheer—
“They only bloom to disappear.”
Yet sometimes, in the hush of rain,
A flicker stirs beneath his pain—
A warmth he hates, a spark he knows,
That dies before it ever grows.
For RoJo fears what hearts defend—
That joy, if found, might one day end.
So he keeps his sorrow, sharp and clean,
A faithful wound—his one belief unseen.