Stuck in the image of full-time misery was a man.

Long and thin were his fingers as he stroked his guitar.

His pale face and his blind eye told a different story from his music.

Obvious misery struck the life of the man with ripped clothes and bare feet.

On the street, he sat alone, beaten down,

Though as I entered his world, the music continued to play.

Silence befell him apart from the chords on the guitar,

The hunched man showed no signs of happiness or glee,

Yet as miserable as the image may seem, his music I cherished;

This music could make even the most monstrous creatures tremble with excitement,

For beauty still exists in a life full of misery and darkness.