The Oldest Child’s Burden

I wear the weight of elder years, A crown of rust, a cloak of fears, The first in line to face the night, To guard the dreams, to hold the light.In whispered halls where shadows creep, I cradle secrets buried deep, I mend the cracks in fractured walls, A silent sentinel who never falls.The whispers say, "Be strong, endure," But strength is brittle, never pure, My mind, a storm that has no calm, My heart, a wound without a balm.I balance worlds on weary hands, A child of fate who understands That even giants feel the pain, That even heroes break in rain.So here I stand, the oldest one, A war within, a race not won, With scars unseen and battles lost, The keeper of the family's cost.And yet, I rise against the day, A threadbare soul that finds a way, To breathe, to live, despite it all— The oldest child, who stands, though small.