To Live, to Dream, to Fly

To sketch, to live, to dream,
What we wrote and drew with stream.
Our constant flow, imagined by heart,
Begins a fresh and likely start.
Now we soar, presented like birds,
To take wings and fly with words.
Coursing through our goal shall mean,
That send a path to eternal routine.

Yet what is our goal to inspire,
When we see nothing to our desire.
What value to continue, what style to be?
What expression we make the common free?
Answers define to our likely mean,
That send a strange and wondrous routine.
Though hardship exist and simple bliss,
The answer was simple, without a miss.

This had shown that art derive,
That dreams were real and quite alive.
Stories go on from a written soul,
That express their means to epic goal.
To the sheets of time of blanked slate,
To the hopes of bond that all relate.
Now the days were set to bind,
For artists' time to express their mind.

So has ended the artist of few,
That set their path and to stardom flew.

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