Are you the one you were when you were young,
or are you someone different than you were;
your selves like beads upon a necklace strung,
with some more colorful, that you prefer?
Are you the one you see who’s in a glass,
though in that mirror you are in reverse,
or who you will become when decades pass,
till your remains are carried in a hearse?
Or could it be you’re none of the above,
your essence being out of time and space,
projected like a movie that you love
so still frames seem to keep a steady pace?
Beyond illusions, like those on a screen,
your timeless self remains unknown, unseen.
Mario A. Pita