Distilled in glass three men who look like me:
An actor, a musician, and a philosopher.
Each bear my weary eyes, my face, my body,
But each in trade before my eyes now differ.
The first, connected to a childhood dream,
Speaks wonders with a thousand masks on stage.
The second, conceived as a teenager it would seem,
Rocked strings to songs self-inked upon a page.
The third, however, by the time a beard
Could thickly grow to sculpt my face a mane,
Discovered me in ancient books and cleared
Vain, desperate follies aching for bright fame.
Still beams this prophesy I can’t refuse;
Am I all three or must I stand to choose?