Sometimes I look into the mirror
and I see this old man.
And sometimes I look into the mirror
and see a child.
What do you mean I'm not going to make it?
I've got too much to do still.
Of course I'm going to make it.
It seems like every time I turn around
someone is telling me I'm not going to make it.
I don't know what to think anymore.
Everyone seems to be searching.
Singularly we search.
Collectively we fear.
Every so often I get this glimpse of the future
a glimpse of 40 years from now.
Does anyone really know their destiny?
Does anyone really believe?
Am I really in control?
Do I believe?
Far off in a distant galaxy,
another part of my energy, me,
I can hear the laughter.
Not really laughing at me,
Laughing over the archaic droning of fear.
I want to take the word "angel"
and transform it into a description of me.
I feel more like an angel most of the time
than a mere mortal.
Does that make me unsuited for existence
on this planet?
I hope not.
I was just beginning to have some fun.
Visit his blog at: http://reelcharlie.wordpress.com/
Philip and Willow