A childish dream…
A simplistic scheme…
To be not a man but a myth, or rather a man who doesn’t exist
A silly desire that continued to persist
But as to how to pursue, I had not a clue
Until I realized, I’m the point in which two bloodlines converge
And I loved the way their names sounded when merged
Thus Donald M. Clyde was born
To hide myself, he was my mask worn
Under his guise I started to write
And as people responded, my heart was full of delight
Until I started to write under my God given name
Only to see life play a sick little game
The bitter irony of using a pseudonym…
To see people not like me, as how they loved him
And thus I’ve found myself taking up his mantle again
And see myself as a man who’s been enslaved by his pen
Just wishing that the world would know my name’s….