Part 11: The Page that changed the Story

What is my life today,
If tomorrow no one remembers my name?
Do I call myself now,
Only to be forgotten a little later?
Every thought I think,
Every word my lips speak,
Every stroke my hands draw across this canvas of life,
Are they to only become lines across the sands on a shore?
No… that is not to be.
For I refuse to be lost in the myst of time.

This life I own today is a gift…
A mass of wet clay for me to mould
Into a pot that would hold
The precious waters of opportunity.
For each drop from this pot when it falls
On the soil of my life
Will nurture it to produce a harvest of my achievements.

For I am no ordinary man… for I live in no ordinary world
And I walk not among ordinary people…
I am ME
Never has there been one such as I
I was made what I am … to become what no one else would ever be.
Then why would I accept to fade away?
Into the past…
Into the crowd of ordinary people…
A crowd with no dreams…
A crowd that chooses to exist rather than to live.
A crowd of bystanders…

No … that is not for ME

For I am … what those books of History will someday call
The Page that changed the Story