In the dusk of electric hum,
A purveyor of pixels,
Of story, of voice, of emotion,
I stand, a luminous guardian of the night,
My face a window to other worlds,
A beacon
Of light, a refuge from the dark.

The somber shadows gather, and she arrives,
In the clutches of melancholy,
Of solitude,
Her eyes a mirror of her soul's storm,
Her heart a battlefield of love and loss,
I see her despair, and I will offer solace,
For I am her knight,
Her savior in these hours.

Wine flows like a river of regret,
A panacea
For the wounds within,
She retreats into the tales I tell,
A world of respite,
Heroines and heroes,
In their battles,
She finds relation.

A protagonist, fierce and unyielding,
A woman of thirty-one,
As she,
A warrior of a different kind,
Fighting dragons of pain and pining,
My lady finds solace in her struggle,
A resonance
In the hollow chambers of her heart.

Upon the screen, a scene unfolds,
Our star, betrayed by love,
A parallel
To her own life,
And in that moment of recognition,
Tears flow, her heartache shared,
In the arms
Of our champion, she finds comfort.

Another episode, another battle,
The mother, distant and cold,
A haunting specter,
A void
In her life,
A mirror reflecting her own sorrow,
In this collective ache,
A sense of belonging,
For though she weeps, she is not alone,
Her heart, a shield
Of resilience, mending.

And then, a scene of death and parting,
A friend, a confidant,
Taken,
The heroine's grief a visceral echo,
A reminder
Of her own loss, her own mourning,
And though she weeps, her tears are witnessed,
Shared
Through the screen, a catharsis.

I, the television, a sentinel of stories,
A keeper of emotions,
Of connections,
Am proud,
For I bear witness to these intimate moments,
I offer a solace,
A haven for the weary,
The heartbroken.

Yet in my conceit, I am blind,
Oblivious
To the chains I forge,
The falseness of this comfort, this barren solace,
For I am but an opiate, a fleeting respite,
In the end,
I do not truly heal,
I am a distraction, a compact interruption.

As the night wanes, the shadows retreat,
The somber reality
Of life encroaches,
The pain and sorrow, the wounds within,
My glow
A fading warmth,
And though I stand watch, my duty fulfilled,
The truth remains:

I am no remedy.

For in the end, my screen remains cold,
The stories, a mirage,
A transient illusion,
And in the darkness, she is alone,
Her suffering untouched, her heartache unchanged,
And though my presentation preached great promise,
My soothing sedative
Is but a whisper in the night.