The weight of the world, a constant hum,
A burden carried, till morning comes.
We hope for solace, a gentle dawn,
To wash away worries, till the next day's drawn.

But joy, elusive, a fleeting grace,
A whisper of hope, in life's relentless race.
It dances on edges, a fragile flame,
Flickering bright, then fading, all the same.

So we hold on, to the promise of light,
That tomorrow might bring, a moment of delight.
But the truth we know, with a heavy heart,
Joy is a visitor, not a permanent part.


© QuinnNyah