A narrative poem about a depressed film critic.
|As the sun set on the city of lights,|
A film critic sat alone in his room.
His mind was troubled, his heart heavy with blights,
As he pondered on his life's gloom and doom.
For years he had watched and critiqued,
Every movie that came his way.
But now his spirit had been tweaked,
By the darkness that led him to dismay.
He thought of the films that he had praised,
And those that he had condemned.
But in his heart he felt unfazed,
For his life had taken a different bend.
The world had changed, and so had he,
No longer did he find joy in the screen.
The films that once set his heart free,
Now felt like a burden, a scene obscene.
He sat at his desk, staring at the blank screen,
Trying to find words that would make sense.
But the words eluded him, he felt unseen,
As if his life had lost all its essence.
The critics had praised him, called him the best,
But he knew the truth, he was just a fraud.
For he had lost his passion, his zest,
And with it, his love for the art of film had thawed.
He had been to therapy, tried medication,
But nothing seemed to work, he was still in pain.
He felt like a prisoner in his own damnation,
A victim of his own mind's insane.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months,
And the critic sat in his room, alone with his thoughts.
His life had become a never-ending hunt,
For something that he had lost.
One day he decided to take a walk,
To clear his mind, to find some peace.
He walked by the river, and stopped to talk,
To an old man, who had found his release.
The old man told him of a different world,
One that existed beyond the screen.
A world of nature, a world unfurled,
Where the soul could find a new routine.
The critic listened, and felt a spark,
A glimmer of hope in his soul.
He knew that he had to embark,
On a journey that would make him whole.
He left the city, and headed to the hills,
To find the world that the old man had spoke.
He walked for days, and climbed the steep thrills,
And finally found the place that he had hoped.
The world was different, the air was fresh,
The sun was warm, the sky was blue.
The critic felt his heart re-mesh,
As if he had found something new.
He watched the birds, and the flowers bloom,
And felt his spirit begin to heal.
The critic knew that he had found room,
For a new life, a new deal.
He wrote about his journey, his new love,
And found that his words came alive.
He knew that he was no longer above,
But a part of nature, no longer deprived.
The critic returned to the city, a changed man,
And wrote about the beauty he had seen.
He wrote about the world beyond the screen,
And how it had healed his soul's demand.
The critics praised him, called him the best,
But he knew the truth, he was now alive.
For he had found a new love, a new quest,
And with it, his passion had been revived.