In the shadowed halls of silent pain,
Where whispers echo of what once was bright,
A weary soul fights through the relentless rain,
Seeking the dawn that follows the night.

Each breath a battle, each moment a climb,
Yet hope flickers softly in the depths of despair,
For even in the darkest of time,
The seeds of healing take root in the air.

With gentle hands and words of grace,
The wounds begin to mend and fade,
In the embrace of time’s gentle pace,
A new strength and peace are slowly made.

And as the sun breaks through the storm,
A heart once weary is now reborn,
In the light of healing, warm and calm,
Finding solace in the morning’s balm.