In a realm where materialism reigns,
Lost souls wander, bearing heavy chains,
A sadness lingers, a profound despair,
For love and art, few hearts seem to care.

Amidst the frenzy, where pursuits collide,
A renaissance dreams, with hope as its guide,
But shadows deepen, casting doubt and gloom,
As indifference smothers every creative bloom.

Oh, how tragic it is, this melancholy tale,
When whispers of beauty fail to prevail,
Though we strive to revive the love within,
The world remains apathetic, lost in its own din.

In pursuit of fortunes and wealth's allure,
Humanity drifts, distant and obscure,
And while we yearn to awaken their souls,
They remain entangled in materialistic goals.

For every stroke of art, every tender rhyme,
Seems futile, unnoticed, lost in time,
Aching hearts mourn, for the world can't perceive,
The transformative power they so desperately need.

Yet still, we carry the flame in our hearts,
Defying the odds, embracing our arts,
In this sea of indifference, we dare to dream,
To breathe life into verses, no matter how it may seem.

It's a somber truth we must come to accept,
That change may elude us, as hopes intercept,
But in the depths of our souls, let resilience reside,
For art's true essence can never truly hide.

So let our tears stain the canvas we wield,
Each melancholic hue a tale revealed,
For even in sorrow, there's beauty to find,
In the depths of despair, solace intertwined.

Though the world may never fully comprehend,
The significance of art, its power to mend,
We shall press on, painting our stories of woe,
For our hearts shall remember, even if they don't know.

In this lonely pursuit, we find solace and grace,
Embracing the sadness, we leave our trace,
For it's in the midst of longing and strife,
That art finds its meaning, its eternal life.

So, let the sadness echo through each verse,
A bittersweet melody, a poetic curse,
For in the depths of sorrow, a spark remains,
A testament to our love, despite the world's disdain.

For even in sorrow, where hearts deeply sink,
Our verses emerge, like tears on the brink,
A testament to passion, where souls interlink,
In the depths of our art, we bleed with ink.

Though the world may not change, we'll carry on,
Weaving our emotions into the fabric of song,
For art's true worth, though buried in despair,
Shall forever endure, a testament, rare and rare.

© #Sherlocked