The man creates with his singular hands
the grandeur of his heart crashing upon the Earth.
That lonely structure will eventually rot away to the
center of it all if no one takes its meaning.

Bridges will collapse into the sea, pretty little
castles corrode one by one. Their kings never came to
inhabit them, their princes never ruled accepting towers.
No one came to know them, no one respected craftsmanship.

What's the point of having a beautiful set more glorious
than the acting, if no one bothers to speak of that paint? The
crowd gathers for the show, the actors consume easily-distracted
minds. Foolish personas trample the work of one.

Move on, creator of souls. Relinquish your command of the pieces of
art that makes the show. Find that place where, if not appreciated,
that wayward audience finds painted scenes and plastered dreams
of lovely quality.

You're worth the hype, you know. Don't be an idiot and continue
to place the burdens on yourself because you don't think you're worth
more than pieces of wood and layers of paint. If that craftsman doesn't
find his home soon enough, the only thing I'll remember...

Is your absence.

Create what you love. Build what your heart tells you to build.
Become what you love.

I believe in you.