For sixty days, I’ve knelt and prayed,
In shadows where the truth has strayed.
My whispers rose on weary breath,
Aching for light in halls of death.
Each dawn arrived with weighted skies,
Hope faltered in its own disguise.
I begged for justice, pure and bright,
To pierce deceit with sacred light.
The nights grew long, the silence cold,
As lies took root and stories sold.
Beneath the stars, I clenched my fists,
And waged my war with darkness’ twists.
I wore my knees to stone and dust,
Bled faith from wounds of broken trust.
Tears carved their paths in endless streams,
Floods born of shattered, waking dreams.
I cried to heavens, raw and hoarse,
For truth to find its rightful course.
For every falsehood, every stain,
To burn away in holy flame.
Yet silence draped its heavy shroud,
No thunder broke, no voice aloud.
Just emptiness that filled the air,
And lingered long, despite my prayer.
But somewhere deep within the ache,
A whisper stirred, a vow to break.
That truth, though slow and bound in chains,
Would rise, relentless, through my pains.
So here I stay, with fingers crossed,
In faith’s frail grip, though battle-tossed.
For lies may flourish, false and proud,
But truth, though buried, speaks aloud.