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In the labyrinth of time, where shadows spread their dark wings,
Without poets, without artists... the world would collapse into primordial chaos,
Seasons would disappear, civilizations would crumble to dust,
Thought and humanity would be lost in the abyss, life itself would wither;
Sterile darkness would reign, eternal and uncontested.
Poets and artists, the silent architects of existence,
Hold the threads of reality, weaving the tapestry of time,
With every verse, with every stroke, they evoke the seasons,
Creating the rhythm of life, the very heartbeat of the world.
I wander through the corridors of consciousness, with steps of smoke,
Where images and words merge into a symphony of being,
Without the delicate touch of art, everything would disintegrate,
An endless night, devoid of dreams, where even hope cannot breathe.
They determine the features of their age, the taciturn kings,
Guiding humanity with unseen hands, sculpting the dawn of tomorrow,
The future, docile and obedient, finds its form in their vision,
A canvas waiting to be painted, a poem yet undiscovered.
In this silent dance, I see the universe unfolding,
Stars aligning to the sonnets sung by invisible souls,
Poets dream of tomorrow, their words the ink of time,
Artists capture the light of life, their creations the pulse of our reality.
Without them, the cosmos would be an unfinished symphony,
Potential notes scattered in the void, disordered,
But in their hearts, the essence of existence takes form,
A dance of creation that keeps darkness at bay.
In this realm of thoughts, where consciousness flows like a river of stars,
I hear the whispers of poets from past and present, guiding my pen,
Together we dream of a future sculpted from hope and wonder,
A world where art breathes life into every dark corner.
And thus, in the labyrinth of time and space, they lead us,
The poets and artists, guardians of our fragile reality,
For without them, we would be lost in the night,
But with them, we always find the dawn, ever new, ever bright.
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