Where Pain Burns White

A time awaits where pain is white,
Where days drift gently through the landscape,
And faces once familiar delight once more.
Where youth is no longer pale and spectre-thin,
But you are celebrated,

For all that you have been.
No longer are the daily toils prevalent,
Nor the foul opinions of others relevant.

A time where the warm sun rests upon your face,
Where bright days and clear skies replace
The anguish and the sorrow,
Instead of each day holding
A darker tomorrow.

A time awaits where pain burns white,
But until then,
Every day is night.