I wrote a poem tonight.
He's the most renowned in the world today,
To such a degree that no one can say.
It's his destiny to become so great,
And to make people realize the nature of fate.
The critics will scoff,
Pining for proof,
And when he delivers,
They'll be red from their goof.
With his charisma, desire and will,
There's nothing impossible, failure at nill.
This kid is the one at the mountaintop,
When he climbs, the rest rise up.
Criminals will hear and take to better cause,
Wars will be interrupted and placed on pause.
His talent, technique, charm and dilligence
Will inspire politicians to put forth some intelligence.
The world will wake up at the impact made,
And the stars in the heavens will turn dim and fade,
For he is the sun among the rest in the sky,
And when he shines, all other lights die.
But who can be this talented unknown?
None other than the author of a prophetic tone.
For I am the man that this poem is about,
The next champ of the world, there isn't a doubt.