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