He was a pupil of art
Sipping melancholy
Searching his eager soul
For ardent Melodies

Sought after sleepless nights
Fought imaginary fights
On his empty music sheets
He hoped to divulge his plights

Missing something vital, Deep
Something that upsets his sleep
Was it worth the try and the fall?
Was he another black sheep?

Inspiration, what an enemy!
Forbidding him his journey
His piano keys he thrashed
Tormented by the irony

Could he find someday a Muse?
With whom he shall run his blues?
Will he grasp the treasure, honey?
Or all his dreams he shall lose?


© Willows