Echoes of Lost Love: A Poet's Struggle

In a world where words danced upon his pen,
There lived a poet, unknown to many men.
His verses sang of love, of beauty so rare,
Yet he never sought fame, only solace to share.

Each night he'd pour his heart into rhyme,
Crafting odes to his love, a treasure sublime.
But alas, his muse departed, leaving him bereft,
And his once vibrant verses became subtly inept.

He longed to break free from the chains of his past,
To write of new wonders, a future amassed.
But his ink flowed only for her, his love's fading gleam,
As if trapped in a reverie, a recurring dream.

He begged the stars, the moon, and the sky,
"Release me from this torment," he'd cry.
Yet the silence mocked him, echoing his pain,
Leaving him to wander, a poet in vain.

With each passing day, his words grew dim,
As memories of her beauty haunted him within.
He pleaded with strangers, "Help me, set me free!"
But they turned away, unable to see.

Alone he stood, with naught but his memories to hold,
A once brilliant poet, now weary and cold.
For he yearned to write of everything, anything anew,
Yet his heart remained shackled, to love forever true.