Song of Myself (In the Style of Walt Whitman)

In me there is a love greater than the sum of my being

Greater than the universe himself

And look into the endless darkness!

That void of a night sky!

It waits for my presence to fill its ever expanding emptiness

 

Its stars sparkle and glitter and gleam

And these stars are in my veins!

They glitter like all the songs that have been sung

That will be sung,

Or that will never be sung at all!

 

In me there are stories to be told, and these stories exist whether or not people take interest in them

In me there are songs to be sung and poems to be written and these both exist whether or not I even like them

 

And I am the songs in myself, and I myself am a song

(I may not be worth singing

But I am sung regardless)

 

And under its sky I gambol and I dance

I cry out with laughter and sing my songs

My dress twirls in the wind and this same wind lifts me up

And under its sky I am there, unwinding

Spinning upwards into the sky,

Spreading outwards into its expansive arms,

I become the Universe’s cynosure,

Incorruptible, to you, evanescent

But I am on this Earth

And I am in that Sky

I am in those stars,

Those stars in your eyes,

Your veins, your cells,

 

And so I sing these songs

From my resting place among the stars

And I hum these hymns as I walk down the city streets

And in the distance I hear someone humming the same song in return