The Cost of the Grind

The Cost of the Grind Youth burns bright, a call to strive,
To toil, to chase, to stay alive.
In this race, where stakes are high,
Work hard, they say, to touch the sky.
I nod, I see the truth in part—
The sweat of youth can shape the heart.
Yet balance whispers, soft and wise,
A truth the grind can’t compromise. For every hour you pour in sweat,
A toll is paid, a silent debt.
The body bends, the mind may fray,
Relationships drift, then fade away.
Emotions stunted, left to rust,
A hollow win, a life unjust.
Money stacks, but cannot mend
The broken things no wealth can send. We shun the steady, call it tame,
And crown the extremes with fleeting fame.
The hustle glorified, a gilded cage,
Ignores the cost of endless rage.
And privilege—unseen, it looms,
Enabling feats in gilded rooms.
Helicopters soar, tasks outsourced with ease,
But most can’t buy such luxuries. The world demands a relentless pace,
Yet balance carves a sacred space.
To grow, to breathe, to love, to be—
This is the wealth that sets us free.
For what’s the gain of gold amassed,
If life’s true riches fade too fast?
Work hard, yes, but heed the call—
To live, not just to win it all.