In shadows cast by flickering light,
John Elia weaves his tales of night.
Melancholy whispers in the wind,
A soul in search, a heart to mend.
His verses dance like autumn leaves,
A tapestry that time weaves.
In solitude, he finds his muse,
With every word, his pain heâll lose.
The world he paints in shades of grey,
A poetâs soul in disarray.
Seeking truth in every line,
A spirit boundless, yet confined.
John Elia, a name that lingers,
His legacy rests on gentle fingers.
Through his words, his life unfolds,
A timeless tale forever told.