I Am What I Am
I am the money that talks in the bank,
a flaw in the mirror, a check that was blank,
the tip of an iceberg, the liner that sank.
I’m the isle of the blessed and the pirate who’d plunder it,
the veil of the night and the lightning to sunder it,
the boy in the bed and the monster who’s under it.
I’m the sum of a part and the karmic subtraction,
the paralyzed thought and the frenzy of action,
the bile in my throat and a low satisfaction.
I’m the past I have checkered, the devil’s detail,
the promise of love and a check in the mail,
rebellion in heaven, the quest for the grail;
I’m the grave of my death and the air in my head,
the puzzle I question, the answer I dread –
each shadow I’ve thrown, and the life that I’ve led,
the monster below and the boy in the bed.
Illustration by Russ Spitkovsky courtesy of Ed Shacklee.
Every person worth knowing (in my opinion) has a bit of the boy in the bed and the monster who’s under it in them.
Damn, I love this poem, Ed! Glad you posted the link on Facebook.
nice..
Nicely done Ed. For some strange reason I always thought there was a giant lobster under my bed and slept curled into a tight ball so that its pincers would not snap off an errant finger or toe that might casually go beyond the mattress edge…
That’s me, exactly. Except for the details.