He was pushing 60, at least
So impressed with my poetry he looked me in the face and raved
“You, are the future.”
I appreciate the sentiment but that is not a compliment because I may
Be young but I, am not the future. I am not the future, Sir, any more than you are the
Past. You are, wrinkly with a receding hairline yes but the muscle, in your chest beats
And burns just like mine and we are both alive, in the present. I've spent far too many
Yesterdays stressing on what I might become tomorrow, while you've wasted timeless
Afternoons reminiscing on who you once were but neither of those people are us
We are not anything but what we are now
My faith of last week does not please God today
My future riches does not cancel this poverty
My former strength does not heal present weakness
My soon-coming failure does not diminish current victory
I am not the future, I am not history
I exist in perpetual nowness
Rebuking the ghosts of old sins and future fears
I am nothing but here, and now
And if I don't like that me, then I must change here, and now
And if I can't change that me then I must pray here, and now
That God allow this present step to land a new man
By the grace of God I am what I am
I am young, you are old we are both but a breath
Any second my inhale will be as your ex
So let's celebrate this moment in eternity when God saw
Us fit to be brothers in the now
And I know you meant well, dear sweet balding wrinkly faced Sir
But I hope you understand how much you're worth
For you are not the past
And I am not the future