The Artist – A Poem on Sadness, Creativity & the Beautiful Ache of Expression

This poem forms part of my Aftermath collection, poetry written after meeting Jenn, where love, reflection, and emotional clarity began to replace chaos.

Sadness can feel like an overwhelming force, consuming and unrelenting.

But as a poet and creator, I see it as a canvas—a space to pour emotion, process pain, and create meaning.

The Artist reflects my journey through those dark moments, painting feelings from the canvas of my mind.

We are all artists, painting our lives upon the canvas of reality. Mix the colors your own way and apply emotion liberally. Don't be afraid to let your brushstrokes show, and above all else, make sure your art has soul - Cristen Rodgers

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The Artist

Sitting

Surmising

My mind is frightening

Like a belt tightening

Around my neck

This isn't exciting

There isn't any lighting

The sadness is coming

I feel like running

Yet the dark is cunning

My legs are heavy

Like bricks on my feet

I guess I'm going nowhere

So it is time to meet

The internal motors

That spark and clash

Rip and smash

Here is my interpretation

My deepest sensation

My lungs are heavy

There is no challenge

And no expectation

I sense I know why

I keep feeling this way

How I look to avoid

The hardest thing

I've ever had to do

To lose my feelings

Of love for you

I've longed for what we had

Dreamt of good and bad

My heart goes begging

I lusted for the emotion

Desired the commotion

The feelings that inspired

That dizziness

Isn't painless

It's the torture of my heart

Like an art

This love

It messed with my insides

Like a tray of paint

Mixed up and colourful

Reds, greys, and yellows

Blues and greens

The joyous wonder

The darkening screams

All those hopes

Laid to waste

Time to be emptied

Gone is the taste

The potential

The drama

All things karma

My spirits dampen

As my heart fades to black

The artist has left us

Our canvas unfinished

The picture is open

But thought has diminished

Printed forever

We will no longer be

Our pitch cut off

From reaching its ending

And whilst I think of this

My heart is so torn

It feels like my tapestry

Just stopped in its tracks

And the painting is there

The structure and foundation

But the sky is unfinished

And the house is half built

Like a bankrupt fighter

It leaves much to be desired

Everything it hoped for

Deep in the mire

The mess is clear

The solution is not so

The artist behind the painting

Where did he go

And so there we are

Left unfinished

The applicators broken

There is no more to write

Or paint

Or glow

Or reach its potential

Just no

And hard memories are plentiful

The only hope now

Is for a brand-new canvas

To manifest itself

Be born from life's atlas

The world is still here

Despite all my fears

I must top up my ink

Empty my tears

Refill my pots

Regain my strength

If I can do that

I can make more sense

This sadness has owned me

Thrown off my game

I have to release this

Or forever stay the same

© Leon Gregori 2026

How do you process sadness or loss? Do you turn to creativity, or do you find solace in other ways? I’d love to hear your reflections in the comments!

⪢ Explore the Aftermath collection

Discover more poems written after meeting Jenn. My reflections on love, connection, creativity, and emotional clarity.

→ View all Aftermath poems

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The Game

This piece tackles the cyclical nature of modern life—eat, work, sleep, repeat—and how this relentless rhythm has shaped our humanity.

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About Leon Gregori

I've been writing poetry since my mid-teens and find it natural to express myself through words. My long-form content focuses on themes of heartbreak and life.

🔗 ABOUT LEON GREGORI

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