The Hour That Hope is Born

Tired and weary, I nearly collapse.
Life boring and dreary, it's hard to relax.
I must listen hourly to stupid little rants,
They attack the mind like relentless little ants.

A chafing march they beat on my brain,
Drum drum drum drum, it drives me insane.
I must escape from this torture,
From these intellectual paupers!

Exhausted and wasted, I lay down to rest,
But my mind cannot escape the thoughts I detest.
I twist and I turn, unable to sleep.
Frustrated and annoyed, I practically weep.

Why can't these incompetent people just leave me alone?
These flayers of intellect, these withered old crones!
They prod and they poke, disturbing my dreams.
Insomniac personified, they won't cease with their schemes.

Valiantly the sun comes, to lead a new day,
And with it my problems seem far, far away.
The radiant forces prevail yet again,
Driving insanity from its shady domain.

Remember, that no matter the gravity,
Of your problems, your seeming depravity,
You must only persevere, wait for a new morn,
For that is the hour that hope is born.