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.
Amidst the darkness, they see a spark,
A glimmer of hope, a slight remark.
A whisper of a distant dream,
The artist holds on, with courage and gleam.
The artist’s brush is now alive,
Amidst a canvas of color and vibrancy.
A new dawn of hope and inspiration,
A journey of transformation.