By: Cedric McClester

They called him pessimistic
Though maybe he was not
Like a spider’s web his reputation
Is the place that he was caught
Perhaps it was the darkness
That he captured in his songs
Which offered no solutions
And didn’t right the wrongs

He tried to write a diary
To offer up some proof
Of the life that he was living
But would he tell the truth?
When asked how he was doing
It always was a goof
Because everytime he told them
They rather he be aloof

What he put down on paper
Wasn’t always true
Especially when it was written
From another’s point of view
He had some tricks up his sleeve
As every writer does
And many choose to believe
That’s the way he really was

He didn’t grow up in an era
Of self-indulgence, like today
His parents rarely asked him
If he was okay
Their love was in the discipline
He grew up to display
And in the fine manners
That he had anyway










Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.