It will be strange to see,
at day’s end,
rhymes and lines of so much creativity
honestly emoting again.

To know of the fantasies
that were, throughout the day,
laid down in visions and dreams
because a romantic had something to say.

To read of the beliefs
he allowed himself to feel,
but at the end see the griefs
he could no longer conceal.

And then to learn, as day faded to night,
it was mused deception. Out goes his light.