When the sadness encroaches,
When the skies are violated by fog,
Not all hope is lost,
For I can return to my art,
That beacon of inspiring radiance,
A lighthouse,
A port in the storm,

Built of written word and ballads,
Bonded by ink and stanzas,
A structure as vital as my own blood,
A sun at its apex,
Versicolour in its gleam,
Burning away the void of the world,
Drowning it in lyrical hues,

It’s a haven,
A sanctuary of poetry,
So no matter the malic of the twilight,
The light burns ever on,
The art shall ever flow.


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