There was once a poet, though few would know it, kept their hurt inside, with in an iron cage was a fire of shadow, and frozen pain that did rage and rage for endless days. The key to this was hidden away, never to be seen by the light of day, for with love it could be extinguished, the pain vanquished and the demon sent away. The poet though, they feared this day, with all their heart, for they feared with the flame extinguished, so would go the poet’s art.
Maybe through that darkness a light they’ll see, with out the darkness that blighted that endless sea, the depths inside their soul hidden away by corrupt flame and vile fear, of any and all they might indeed hold dear. However without hope could come no relief, no way to cleanse that shadowed spark, tainted and cruel, however it was their soul and all they ever knew, so they clung to pain, like it was their lover’s last breath, and never let go, not even in death.