• _faithless 5w

    The Great Silhouettes

    Then the poet stopped from making any poem
    His mind was out for a little more word
    A truth of anhedonia of his world
    Giving up on his one last worthless hope
    If this world was too busy on its own
    Is there still voice for this very little noise?
    When he sangs the song, did anyone listen?
    When he wrote the lyrics, did anyone read?
    He made an artwork, did anyone see?
    There, dancing gracefully, did anyone please?
    They are the greats of the unsung
    That almost none has recognize
    And I'm afraid if they fall apart
    The time they choose to throw away their art