The Cave

The cave is the difference between solitude and isolation. When the slinging arrows of cohabitation finally pierce too deep, let the cold walls of the cave guide you to sleep. If you find that too often your name is forgotten, or perhaps that the world is a little bit rotten, be rest assured you will find a spot in the cave.
The cave is guarded by a poor postured man, who will let you enter if you give him your hands. My hands?! You cry, but be not afraid, your hands he will use as apostles of trade.
“Use your hands to create” he will say with a grin “paintings and stories and artwork and sin, cover the world with beauty untold, and worry not of the wrinkles they hold,
For when you have finished the world will be saved, and I’ll let you enter into the cave.”
So roll up your sleeves, and grease your elbows, spend all your time scribbling because anything goes. Cook when you’re pissed and sew when you’re sad,  use up all your time showing  feelings you had. Sculpt statues of crap and hearts of gold, abuse your hands ‘till they’re gnarled and old.
And when you find that you’re finally done, say hello to the night and goodbye to the sun. When you finally have given all you could’ve gave, walk very slowly into the cave.
Artifacted on the walls, is every color you saw. Your drawings, and songs, and candles and chords, your every creation and then even more.
“I don't understand? Is the world now saved?” You exclaim
“It couldn't be child,” the man will now say, “but these parts of you from the world are now safe, safe in the world that exists in the cave.”