Menial sport destroyed such equipment

Menial

Forgotten laborers toil behind the scenes,
Their work unseen, unappreciated and vain.
A term that sums up the mundane fate,
Of menial tasks that bring no delight.Their sweat and tears are underestimated,
Their efforts overlooked, their names unsaid.
Yet, they are the backbone of our daily grind,
The unsung heroes of the human mind.Their lives are marked by drudgery and toil,
Their struggles and hardships, their resourceful soil.
Despite the hardships, they persevere with might,
And prove that even the menial can shine so bright.

Sport

He took the field, his heart aflame,
As he gave his all, with every game.
The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat,
The rush of adrenaline, the sweat and the heat.He ran with passion, his feet pounding the ground,
His spirit unbroken, his will unbound.
Through trials and tribulations, he persevered with might,
And emerged victorious, his spirit shining bright.The rush of competition, the thrill of the game,
The camaraderie of teammates, the bond that's claimed.
The joy of winning, the agony of loss,
The pursuit of excellence, the drive that shows.

Destroyed

The fire ravaged the town, leaving nothing but ash,
The once-thriving community, now a smoldering Rash.
The memories of laughter, of joy, of love and light,
Were reduced to nothing, a mere flicker of the past's plight.The wind howled through the streets, a mournful sigh,
As the destruction spread, and the town said goodbye.
The trees stood tall, once green and strong and free,
Now broken and battered, a symbol of humanity.The earth was scorched, the skies were gray and cold,
The land was scarred, the beauty lost, the story untold.
The people were displaced, their homes and livelihoods lost,
Their lives forever changed, their future forecast.

Such

She stood in the crowd, a face so unknown,
A stranger in a sea of familiar tones.
Her eyes searched the faces, a quest to find,
A sense of belonging, a connection left behind.The sounds and sights, a cacophony of pain,
A jumble of emotions, a heart in vain.
She searched for a connection, a sense of home,
A feeling of belonging, a heart that roams.In a world of strangers, she felt alone and blue,
A sense of disconnection, a heart that's not true.
Her search for meaning, a quest to find,
A sense of belonging, a heart that's aligned.

Equipment

The toolbox lay before him, a treasure trove of might,
The tools of his trade, the keys to his sight.
He reached for the wrench, the hammer, the drill,
The instruments of creation, the tools of his will.The air was thick with the scent of oil and grease,
The smell of metal, the feel of heat and freeze.
He worked with precision, with finesse and care,
The tools of his craft, the instruments of repair.The tools seemed to come alive, as he worked with ease,
The metal bending, the wood yielding to the squeeze.
The sound of the hammer, a rhythmic beat,
The whir of the drill, a soothing repeat.