Every time he shifts from Clark to cape,
there’s a tremor he can’t escape.
The body fights what used to flow.
What used to be as easy breathing
is now a struggle riddled with
panic and anxiety
He tries to figure it out.
Reporter brain kicks in,
investigates his own decline
“like it’s a case he can crack.
Despite having the wisdom and knowledge of krypton at his fingertips
All he has is questions with a no answer too
The phone rings.
Someone needs Superman.
But his hands shake
and he can’t even lift the call.
They watch him fail.
The disappointment
cuts deeper than kryptonite ever did.
You can’t punch your way out clean
when your own body is the crime scene.
Superman dies.
Clark remains.
Between the unsteady pace,
And the quiet tremors he must face,
he learns to be
The new Clark isn’t the old Superman.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe the hero isn’t the cape.
Maybe it’s just showing up
as whoever you are now.