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I’m in the Sophomore year of a midlife crisis
Too long I traded hopes and dreams for excuses and vices
But now somehow I’ve seen the error of my ways
And understand the need to seize all these days
And do what’s right and that’s to write
Even if nobody ever reads it and it never yields a price
My value’s not diminished in the absence of fortune and fame
History will reward my work and the future will know my name
In the interim the truth is what I’m giving them
As I write about life, struggle, strife, her and him
Politics, pop culture, and every other whim
For the future, everything I write is just for them
