A mirror stared with silent grace,
Reflected truths I dared not face.
MJ’s voice like November rain
“Change begins within the frame.”
The man in the mirror blinked, then spoke,
Not with lips, but soul awoke.
He walks backwards across the moon
“A better place? Go, make a change”.
Books lay scattered, dreams half-spun,
A storm of things I’d left undone.
But then I heard a Canadian tune—
“You hedonistic whim, clean your room.”
Dr. Peterson, with steady tone,
Had struck a chord, I called my own.
Order first, dragons will clear,
Dawkins denies, “that’s rubbish dear”.
I took one step, the first of all,
And though it seemed so faint, so small,
The Father smiled beyond the cloud
The Sheperd’s boy, the wolves sat down
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