How many poems do I need to write in order to get it just right
To really make it as a poet?
Hell hard to know but on I shall go
I’m making it
Or so they say
I want it all though, for everyone and their mother to raise a glass, toast my success
Then I’ll finally be able to know that I’ve gone about impressing the masses
Rather selfish really
But aren’t we all selfish somewhat?
Heard my father wax lyrical about Bruce Springsteen the other day
How great he was, still is
Sixty-three going on twenty-three
Doing it, burning the all too poetic candle at both ends, even if upon his next mammoth audience his legendary reputation may depend
Crazy perhaps
But my kinda crazy, the whole world opening up its arms to you and yours
Know what I mean?
Maybe you don’t, maybe this isn’t exactly what you want, it only ever what I wanted more than anything in this humdrum world of ours
I dunno, on I shall indeed have to go
Keep an eye out Bruce, here’s hoping the price turns out just right
I’ve got the wrong Bruce altogether, haven’t I?