The last Gram!

If I climb the tallest peak, stack my victories, week by week, and yet the world won’t weigh or scan, I’ll still be short that final gram. I could brag of gold, of battles won, of fires I walked, of storms outrun. But if the scale won’t tip, the count’s not done, a shadow lingers on the sun. Maybe I’ll own more than most, hold every prize they love to boast. Still in my chest, the truth will slam: it’s not complete without the last gram. For winning’s more than just the sum, more than the noise of what I’ve become. Until it measures whole, not some I’m half a song, a muted drum. So let them cheer, let voices swell, I’ll know the secret none can tell: that even if I’ve touched the sky, one missing gram still asks me why.