Exasperated voices groan in agony,
From withing cracked hollow walls.
Once they used to scream vehemently,
And they were hushed behind doors.
Once they used to fight with fervor
And were crushed by fateful blows.
Their groans reverb in corridors today,
Empty, save for the fetid forlorn air.
Only questions remain, despondent,
As the bleak night becomes bleaker yet.
“Does this anguish not have an end?
Will no light wash this night away?”
Far beyond the horizon, a star answers,
“It will all end soon, but not today,
Or tomorrow, or the day after either.
So stop chasing a closure or absolution,
Stop groaning in solitude, stop whining,
And sing, like birds who raise the sun.
For it is you who is to toil until dawn,
It’s you who will bring dawn upon yourself.”