Workers by day.
Artist by night.
Alone in their workshops.
They slave away.
Running from doubt of their shadow self.
Releasing passion, grievances, and torment.
Creative design, lost in their minds.
There's worlds they created and destroyed.
Their soul ripped from this physical world.
Splitting their identity into what is linear.
Works of art behind locked doors.
Longing to for the light.
Just one moment to shine.
Then the alarm clock rings.
Time to get dressed.
The work day starts again.
Art will have to wait,
Till dark.
When our souls depart.
-BM
YOU ARE READING
Late night poet - A Fantasy Realm
PoetryA Fantasy Realm - Part Five. Our sweet little poet is lost in a daydream, falling down rabbit holes, a clash with fame, the story goes on. - I hope you have been enjoying the "Late night poet" collection.
