The artist’s brush lays dormant,
Amidst a pile of dust and rust.
A colorless canvas, empty and stark,
A reminder of a life gone dark. The artist’s heart, a deep hollow ache,
A void that’s always hungry to take.
A life of poverty and despair,
No muse to show them, how or where. The artist’s dreams, a fading light,
A wish for a brighter day and night.
But no one hears their cries,
Their fate remains to starve and die.