Beneath the kneecap’s sturdy shield,
The cartilage begins to yield.
Softening under weight and strain,
It whispers first, then speaks in pain.
A runner’s foot, a squatter’s pose,
With every step, the aching grows.
A grinding sound, a click, a crack,
The knee resists, the joint fights back.
Stairs become a mountain steep,
A simple sit denies relief.
Bent knees for long, the ache returns,
The front of the knee forever burns.
The patella, out of line, misled,
Tracks the femur with feet of lead.
Muscles weak or bones askew,
Inflames the joint, and troubles brew.
Athletes feel the stinging fight,
Young adults, in morning light.
No one’s immune, no one’s free,
From the grip of this malady.
Rest is called, a healing balm,
Strengthening exercises calm.
With therapy, the knee might mend,
But for some, the pain won't end.
Surgery whispers in the night,
A final step, a hope for flight.
But until then, through time and care,
We fight the pain, we face the wear.
