A missing part

I want my life to transform into my favourite novel
Page after page, written with passion and emotion,
The reader being captivated from beginning to end
Words turning shivers into a craving demand.

I wish my life were a favourite song
Orpheus, on a stone, singing it all day long
The mystique inside of every single note
Bringing life and changing the whole world.

If only life could be my favourite poetry
Giving birth to unheard fantasy and purity
Liberating humanity from fears and chains
Metaphors and epithets breaking tears.

I wonder when my life may be a painting,
On an infinite canvas, yelling for admiring
Covered on the surface in rainbows
Containing mirrors reflecting shadows.

So where have you gone, my talented writer?
I thought, for beauty, you were a fighter
Did the blue blooded ink dry, did the pen fly?
Or have you lost your confidence in the virtue of write?

And where are you, my golden musician?
Have you turned into a dusty magician?
Disappearing so fast from here to nowhere
Don't turn the other cheek like you don't care.

Has your soul dissolved, misunderstood poet?
You sank in your own rhymes and forgot
All the verses, written with a flying feather
The messenger symbol now does not matter.

I will not blame you, a neglected painter
Because neither then, now or even later
Have ever been for me and will never be
Keep tearing brushes, if that is making you lead.