In the depths of despair, where shadows loom,
A tale of anguish, a solemn gloom,
Through proverbs and wisdom, I shall unfold,
The melancholic journey that needs to be told.

The hands, they toil, in darkness they stay,
But the eyes hold the power to light the way,
To discern the good from the bad, they must see,
For the hands to improve, to set the spirit free.

Yet in this lament, the eyes are clouded,
Blind to the good, in darkness shrouded,
The hands, they labor, but with no clear sight,
Their creations marred, devoid of light.

In the realm of creation, an artist's plight,
Yearning for beauty, searching for light,
But without discernment, the hands cannot soar,
They grasp at darkness, forevermore.

To cultivate the eyes, a journey must begin,
To see beyond the shadows, to find light within,
For without the vision to perceive what's true,
The hands remain shackled, their potential askew.

Oh, the sorrow that befalls the unseeing eyes,
Their blindness prevents the work's true rise,
The hands, they crave guidance, a vision so clear,
To sculpt a masterpiece, banishing fear.

But in this desolate state, they remain confined,
No improvement achieved, no solace to find,
The hands, once skilled, now wither away,
Their potential thwarted, in shadows they stay.

So let us seek wisdom, let us yearn to see,
To cultivate the eyes, set the spirit free,
For in discerning the good from the bad,
The hands shall rise, no longer be sad.

With sharpened sight, the artist shall emerge,
From the depths of darkness, their talent will surge,
And with skilled hands, they'll create art divine,
A testament to their journey, a triumphant sign.

Thus, let us remember, in our darkest hour,
To cultivate the eyes, reclaim their power,
For only then, can the hands surpass,
Creating beauty that forever shall last.