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For those who think they know me well enough,

Are surprised that I am rather tough?

I listen well to you with mortal ears,

Quiet, seeming, but wise beyond my years.



Actor I may be, yes a writer too,

And in my heart, I feel, I live, but through -

The mirror you will see the hope, it grows,

That knowledge shall be free, as this poem flows.



But back through the mirror, my image, it does die,

Yet soon enough in hopes that it could fly -

Sheds it's skin and, closing eyes, it jumps,

With broken wings it turns to muddy clumps.



I insist, confess it, I have no sin,

Hidden behind my monstrous grin.

The Fog is rolling in,

I pull my cloak tighter.

The Fog is rolling in,

There is a chill on my heart.

War is upon us,

I feel it in my body, my soul, my breath.

The Earth knows this,

Her heart beat is becoming more rapid.

These boundless green hills will be stained with blood,

The people of the world are sick.

When will be saved from our selves?

Someday....

But the Fog is rolling in,

And there is a chill on my heart.