Who's to Say?--a Poem about Walking

Who's to say?....

As my steps slide beneath me,
My cold shoes on the colder pavement,
Air moving around me,
Forming to the contours of my face,
My shoulders,
My knees,
Who's to say not?

As my straight, stiff bones
Are pulled on by my
Bent, soft muscles,
Propelling myself through this
Straight, stiff world,
Who will deny?

As the stars shine down on me,
Twirling about the axis of my spine,
And vapor leaves my mouth
To wreathe my sacred head,
Who can make afraid?

As I walk--
This most supreme of acts,
This defiance,
This submission,
This human trait--
Who's to say that I am not
The Master of my Universe?


That's the first poem I've written to completion in a while, at least a month or two. I'm working on another, longer, sadder one right now that I haven't finished yet that I won't be putting up here. This poem here has been in the works for quite a while. (I do acknowledge that it was somewhat inspired by a poem I read in, like, ninth grade, I think, whose author and content I've completely forgotten. If any of you read a poem about a man dancing in his house that has a similar, defiant tone, it's probably that one. I will say in my defense though that, defiance aside, the tones of the two poems couldn't be more different.) It kind of just spontaneously wrote itself tonight when I was considering what to do for my blog. For those of you who think it's self-aggrandizing, I will concede that I can see where you get that impression. At the same time, I would defy you to go out and take a lonely stroll--a good, nice walk--about the streets of Columbia after a winter nightfall. (If you're a lady, please be careful, okay? You can get special permission to do this assignment in the daytime.) I challenge you to focus on your actions. Try to reach a state of anoesis. Think about the glory of your body as it moves you around. Feel your limbs and torso, shrouded in fabric, and the inherent beauty of your lungs breathing and your heart beating. Focus on the simple and sublime as though you had just crashed into your body, and all was novel. When you get back, read that poem again, and then tell me I'm egotistic. If you have a hard time emptying your mind and reaching that anoesis, as I all too often do, talk to God out loud. The effect is largely the same.