In the basement’s dusty air,
The artist toils with fervent care,
Creating works with hopes to share,
With anyone who might happen there.
Dreams and fantasies take flight,
As the artist works throughout the night,
Imagining visitors in their sight,
Admiring each brushstroke with delight.
The imposter syndrome’s voices loud,
As doubts and fears wrap like a shroud,
But the artist pushes on with a crowd,
Of ideas and visions, never bowed.
Hoping for that fateful day,
When strangers come and want to stay,
And catapult the art in display,
To the public’s eye without delay.
Until then, in the basement’s lair,
The artist creates with infinite care,
Hoping someday someone will dare,
To witness their talent, beyond compare.