"The noblest aim of art is making
The human heart still beat and burn.
And since the heart gives life its waking,
Art must to life itself return."
— Jean Guyau (poetic presentation of the statement).


A poet’s now a life restorer—
A heavy burden, hard to bear.
For hearts grow weak, their beats grow poorer,
And many die while breathing air.

Yet many climb, remain unshaken,
Still trampling heads without a care.
Save just a few—then, lost, forsaken,
You'll curse the Rotten Bedlam there.

And yet—again! Though fate is bitter,
And fame’s a game you cannot win.
They praise the fools, they praise the sinners,
For Evil spins the wheel of sin.