How long shall I await the coming?
Those sweet sounds of Bach or the great sculptures of Rodin
I sit watching below from the stands
Knowing how to play the game
But denied a chance to swing my bat
When shall my name be up there on the billboard with the greats?
With every year which bends
And every page that turns before my eyes I can see the wisdom that it takes To be a master
It is with this knowledge and faith that I hold close
Wandering in a desert with my pen as my staff
Fearing my mind shall go blank and all that I have learned shall leave me
Blind but not lost
But without the intelligence to understand where I am supposed to go
I was but a child
I made mistakes
I am only man
This is who I am
I was born this way
No drug or horrible childhood misfortune made me this way
And I pray for those who look down upon me for what I write
For this is my blessing.
This is my way of saying-“Hey why can’t I be remembered as one of the great artists in history.” And trying to say to not only the world but myself, “Ok, I’m different then you are- But its a good thing.”