In glitter's glare, I soared so high,
Chasing dreams that wealth could buy.
Amid applause and bright acclaim,
My inner self remained the same.

An old sketchbook, beneath the dust,
Revealed the dreams I'd lost in lust.
To quiet shores, I fled the scene,
To find the self I’d never seen.

Irony’s touch, in solitude,
Showed simple joys as true and good.
Back to the bustle, heart renewed,
In finding self, my soul was cued.