A Reflection of Time, Youth, and Becoming
A Man Called Me
The days flew by like a fleeting breeze,
From carefree youth to times like these.
Once just a boy, with the skies so wide,
Now this man stood, with time as guide.
This mirror showed, a much wiser face,
Marred by years, I cannot ever replace.
But I failed to see my life's halfway sign.
Too busy of the race of clocks and time.
Now I stand to a halt to turn around,
To trace the path both lost and found.
A tale that unfolds of light and shade,
Of a joy that bloomed of sorrows laid.
Through the storm I’ve made it through,
Each moment painted something true.
No hand can change what comes before,
Now the ink is dry, it writes no more.
Yet in a life that is both wild and wide,
I have left some footprints on the side.
And even if the world forgets my name,
These words may still recall my fame.
Let’s begin to write my life like a song,
Of where I’ve been, be it right or wrong.
A life once lived, so raw and yet so free,
Here is the story of the man called me.