Beyond the Midnight Oil

Ink on the midnight page,
A candle burns its final inch,
While youth surrenders to the stage
And learns to hold, and not to flinch.
The world outside is loud and bright,
With calls to play and games to run,
Yet eyes stay fixed on black and white
To race against the morning sun.
A thousand pleasures pushed aside,
The quiet weight of hope and fear,
With restless dreams they try to hide,
And heavy eyelids, year by year.
They trade the comfort of the now,
The idle hours, the easy sleep,
To carve a future, knowing how
The seeds they sow are what they reap.
No armor worn, no medals won,
Just folded notes and quiet grace—
A silent battle, fought alone,
To build a brighter, better place