Creative Sorrows

I dressed my sorrows in the dark,

A tailor, nimble, blind and stark.

Anger beckoned, a fiery muse,

Whispering sonnets with a fuse.

In that crucible bleak and strange,

A smithy hammering at change.

With every ember's creative bite,

I sculpted shadows into light.

Beyond the thorns, the bloodied veil,

Lies the art that tells the tale.

The pain, the ire, in the forge’s glow,

Transmuted into a creative flow.

So paint your anger, sing your sorrow,

Forge today, a brighter tomorrow.

For at the heart of each painful thing,

Is a bird that's waiting to take wing.