This is everything I am
And all I have done
What is a life but a line upon which we are a travelling speck
We draw these
For all of my life I have strove to create
Filled with music, visions, words, concepts
Ever battling to wrestle these monsters into a reality to share
Ever pressed for time, peace, money
Always a struggle, results always inferior to my ability
And now I am old and poor and alone
I look up, with tired eyes at my paintings, my music, my poems
The wall of this once-childhood room
My work looks back
And I feel loved
This is everything I am
And all I have done
I make a mark, and walk on to yet greater ground
I have no other purpose
