x-always-alone-x

For so long like a painting forgotten in an abandoned gallery A simple being who met with muses on rare occasion So little kept the words flowing Ink would run with salty droplets Lost, forgotten Still no one saw theses creations Those that strolled past found nothing real to grasp Finally a muse was found At last true meaning and life No longer were these trivial things Still for myself Still for the world Now for my muse With word and form I found praise For some time I must have shone brightly Now my interest seems to have flickered like a frail candle flame The curiosity of my existence, no more Now I must wonder have