*Misty Path At Golden Hour* _Hmm… what at all is man?_ O son of the soil, don’t you see? Each passing day carries a piece of you away. Time moves on, and so are your days, It doesn’t return. Then one day, death will knock, and all the things you gathered, all the things you chased, Will no longer be yours. Only who you became will follow you. So tell me, who are you, really? Not your name, not your titles, not the things you owned. You are your days, your deeds, your heart. Like the stars in the sky or the wind that passes, Your time was a gift. But who did it touch? Who felt your kindness? Who will say, “Because of this one, my life was better”? When all is quiet and your name is spoken in past tense, What will be remembered? And when you stand before the One who gave you breath, What will you say? Ei... the pain of a life that has gone, And the deep silence it leaves behind. *Let us think. Let us live well. Let us love deep.* _@OmmanyeAddo_