Heady dreams for sure, but that is what he needed, needed to have something of a surefire attitude, the purest of the pure
Could, would catch himself dreaming, all too often and time and time again
Wondering if he has what it takes when it comes to the increasingly important matter of what might lie between that page and his trusted pen
A fair degree of writers rage never hurt anyone
Could his words create a song of sorts, or even as much as one day get the chance to take to the stage, dancing, prancing about The Gaiety
Really, it’s the simple things in the beginning
A steely and acute nature that manages to slowly but oh so surely turn many a stranger’s head
Typical bedtime stories unfolding right there before their very eyes, for everyone to see
They getting, wanting to read it all, every single page after the other with a sense of unmatched glee
Finger spit always at hand, always at the ready
Smiles far more than a mile wide, an enticingly magical delivery to the point of no return
Earning him his forever stripes
Lending this particular writer a once-in-a-lifetime literary horn
Erotic, perhaps, crass even, but that’s what it is all about
Shout, poet laureate, shout it from the rooftops

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