I’m not concerned about the world’s problems.
If anything, it’s depressing.
Turn on the news, hear the blues,
I wasn’t there, so what’s it to you?

I’ve got a story, pretty much about me,
Trying to make an impression.
I’ve got a pencil, paper, an imagination,
Playing God for a life to share my creations.

And when I die, and make the world sad,
They’ll miss and love me for what I’ve done.
They’ll wish me luck in Heaven above,
But they will miss any more gifts of my love.

Writings.

Literature.

Poems.

Books.

And that’s all that matters to me.
Make someone who I completely don’t know,
Make someone who would never know me,
Smile and fantasize about worlds beyond,
Unlike this sad, little planet we live on.

My books will live on,
And make more people laugh,
And more people cry
And someday, it just might be a movie.

My books will still be here long after,
Hopefully never forgotten,
By the eating sands of time,
But remembered…

So go back to the depressing news
And listen to the world’s problems,
If you wish to do so,
Or make use of life.

It’s what I will have left for you,

The People.

The Mob.

The Crowd.

The Individual.

And that’s all that matters to me.
Your legacy is anything, everything, and more,
So ask yourself this as I have asked myself;
Who are you in this world?