Pain and the White

A time awaits where pain is white,
Where days pass in landscape,
And faces once familiar, again delight,
Where youth is no longer pale and spector thin,
But you are celebrated, for all that you have been,
No longer are the daily toils prevalent,
Or the foul opinions of others relevant,
A time where the warm sun is on your face,
Where bright days with clear skies replace,
The anguish and the sorrow,
Where every day, holds a darker tomorrow,
That time awaits where pain is white,
But until then, every day is night.