I entreat you, muse
remind me now of the segment of my soul
that has oft'n been responsible for the creation of terrible beauty.
Yes, i do understand that some terror must prevail- that my page alone may be my peace - when i find it nowhere else -
If this is what i must accept-
then i do willfully receive your woe -
if this is where i go, then through the valley
of the shadow of death,
i shall come to know,
that beauty may be from dear tragedy removed
and art is ne'er far behind a broken heart
a soul that drowns apart form
painting words onto some blank canvas
and even and empty mind has merit
for all things empty may be filled at the will of some divine entity-
i entreat thee-
bring to my hands this dear artistry
though inevitably it shall hedge a broken heart in me