"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.