All though the night
Through its ever-present black,
Seeps all the hope of light,
Many people still gaze up
To find the shining stars.
Their small white light
Is but a dent in the dark
But yet they still press on,
Determined to keep the hope
Until the sun at last
Wipes clean the twilight.
And it is these tiny points of hope
That burdens us to live on
To the next sunrise.
But I look forward to the next sunset
For it is only when the sun
Paints the last blue with its rays,
And when the deepest twiight begins its reign
That only the brightest stars
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