Work Text:
If I were truly a poet, what sort of
sorrow would I write?
Nonsense words of love, prayers
unfulfilled, dreams forgotten.
Blank canvases, songs unsung, hopes
unspoken, forever lost.
Art for art’s sake, a hand for a hand.
If I were truly a poet, what sort of
tragedy must I live?
All the world’s a stage and I,
unwilling, must play my part.
Beneath an empty sky, cold and vast,
I am reminded of my despair.
Art for art’s sake, an eye for an eye.
Shall I put my darkness to paper?
Words, bloodied words, dripping from
my calloused fingertips.
Ink of the heart, lifeblood of the artist,
a grief overflowing.
Art for art’s sake, a life for a life.