We all look up to the same sun.
To the same moon we confide.
We all look at them the same...
Hoping for the light of day...
Wishing for peace at night.

Unfortunately...
It seems that they are not just.
For their light is selective.
It is not available to those
heavily shrouded in the dark,
drenched in tears.
It seemingly favour those
who'd shamelessly croon for their boon.
Miscreants who shirk
their responsibilities and fears.

I beg you...
Guardian of day and sentinel in twilight.
May your arms be kind and fastidious.
May your reach be deliberate,
purposeful and extensive.
Find those who cry but without voice.
Cradle those who've made decisions
without the luxury of choice.
Shed some love so they could see
past their laboured breaths in mud.
Raise them to their feet
so that they might
have a fighting chance to live.