In the heart of the artist, a fire burns bright
Fueled by passion and the will to create
But when the world fails to see the light
The pain of unsold art is hard to mitigate

Like a tree that bears no fruit
The artist feels the emptiness and hollowness
For art is not a means to earn, but a pursuit
Yet it's hard to ignore the material success

But as Rumi says,
"The wound is the place where the light enters you"
Perhaps in this pain, lies a deeper truth
For the artist, it's not fame or wealth
But the joy of creation that holds the proof

So let the artist create, with an open heart
For the beauty of art, will never depart
It will find its way to the right eyes
And the artist will be forever immortalized.