We are the only ones who lift them. To us they are just masses of iron. Two light weights with fat ends and skinny handles to hold. Two who sit in waiting just to be lifted. Two heavy iron weights in the weightroom. From this room we can see them, but outside of that room they’re nothing but iron.
Their strength is obvious. They turn small boys into strong men. They are light and they are heavy and are only chunks of iron when they are sitting idle but in use, tools to sculpt a body of gods. This is where they live.
No one knows about there hard work, except the ones that know their true potential, to shape themselves from out to in shape. Lift, Lift, Lift, weights say when I sleep. They improve.
When I have become as strong as believed keep lifting, when I am sore and can barely move, is when I look at weights. When there is one thing left to do in this room. Two who sit in waiting. Two who help all to reach their true potential. Two whose only purpose is to lift and be lifted.