In shadows deep, his thoughts did weave,
A tapestry of sorrow, love, and grief.
With every word, a sigh released,
In solitude, his soul found peace.

The world, a canvas, dark and bright,
His pen, a beacon in the night.
Through pain and loss, he found his art,
Etching feelings from the heart.

In verses whispered soft and low,
His inner turmoil seemed to show.
A life of trials, love unspoken,
A poet’s heart, forever broken.

Yet in his sorrow, beauty lay,
His words, a light in disarray.
For John Elia, the lines he wrote,
Were fragments of his aching note.