Song of Myself (written in style of Whitman's poem of same name)
1
How do I define the intricacies of my soul and being,
Of the ever-changing and complex Shea Kelly?
I am the all-encompassing individual,
No more myself than I am you.
I embody the whole of the universe in every aspect of my existence,
Yet I am intrinsically different.
2
Observing and contemplating, I seek truth in myself and the surrounding world.
I follow no code or dogma other than my own,
Acting and thinking on personal terms and motives,
But always considering and respecting the “bigger picture.”
3
I probe and explore the mysteries of my soul.
I delve into its depths and by discovering more I understand less.
My soul is a vast filing cabinet and I may never open all its drawers.
I know myself thoroughly and intimately,
That when meeting new people I tend to be reserved,
That I speak candidly, never substituting a white lie for honesty,
That I view the world with a sense of humor to compliment my innate skepticism,
That every achievement of mine has come from diligence and responsibility, not from
natural ability,
And that my independence does not inhibit my open-mindedness.
But these are only qualities of my personality,
How can I identify and define the essence of my soul?
4
What is my elusive purpose in this enigmatic life?
I look not to God or any other supposed savior for the answer,
For I am my own savior, my own guide through the maze called life.
I have faith in myself and that allows me to find reason.
5
I am only a miniscule player in the immense drama which is this world.
The inadequate effect of my actions on the world seem to render me insignificant,
But I am an essential part of this infinite reality, a contributing member of Earth’s
dominant species.
I live and breathe the same life and world which is shared by all living things.
By the illustrious entertainer in his spacious Hollywood mansion,
By the homeless and forgotten beggar on the harsh city boulevard,
By the proud alpha male lion roaming the golden African savanna,
By the mangy sewer rat reveling in garbage and human waste.
I am a part of and one with all these things, but more defines me.
6
The comforting and captivating music which streams out of my speakers resounds
throughout my soul.
I am the dynamic drummer from South Philly, improvising an energetic solo with an afro
pick in my hair.
The revolutionary punk whose unknown East Bay trio evolved into a loud, worldwide
instrument for political change.
The poetic lyricist from rap’s mecca who maintains his integrity by sticking to the
essence of hip-hop while all others trade their souls for riches.
The tormented grunge icon who turned his angst into an art, identifying with a generation
before taking his own life.
I am the “ping” of the baseball meeting my metal bat,
And the baseball soaring magnificently through the summer air against the cloudless, sky
blue background.
And the glove on the outstretched arm of the centerfielder as he hopelessly reaches
skyward as the baseball floats over the outfield fence.
And the fresh-cut grass which serves as a soft and inviting landing for the far-traveled
baseball.
Living in the virtual fantasy world on the screen before me, I am content.
I am the fluorescent green, turbo-charged 3000GT racing through city traffic in pursuit of
glory and respect.
I am the master of combat drawing a futuristic assault rifle before annihilating a horde of
fiendish aliens.
I am the loud-mouthed wide receiver juking pursuing defenders before diving into the
endzone and humiliating my opponents with an imaginative celebration.
I am the kingpin of organized crime navigating my urban empire with a flamethrower,
torching anything that stands in my way.
I am anything I want to be, compliments of a 128-bit console.
When I ponder the Song of Shea Kelly, I envision a collection of places - Polaroids of
my life’s defining locales.
From the lush green, rocky coastline of my ancestors homeland,
To the pink bench swing on the cement porch of the Arts and Crafts house which I have lived
in my entire life,
To the shady spot under the weeping willow along the creek where I caught my first fish,
To the concrete paradise beneath I-95 where I used to perfect my ollies,
To the humble pizza parlor in my quiet college town with the cheese steaks I have loved
since childhood.
Peering into my soul, I can travel to the infinite number of places which identify me.
7
What makes me who I am is an array of what I am not capable of being.
My soul is a collage of emotions, traits, opinions, actions, relationships, hobbies, people, places, and things.
My body is the temple in which these things dwell.
I am what I am, unaffected.
I am mine.
How do I define the intricacies of my soul and being,
Of the ever-changing and complex Shea Kelly?
I am the all-encompassing individual,
No more myself than I am you.
I embody the whole of the universe in every aspect of my existence,
Yet I am intrinsically different.
2
Observing and contemplating, I seek truth in myself and the surrounding world.
I follow no code or dogma other than my own,
Acting and thinking on personal terms and motives,
But always considering and respecting the “bigger picture.”
3
I probe and explore the mysteries of my soul.
I delve into its depths and by discovering more I understand less.
My soul is a vast filing cabinet and I may never open all its drawers.
I know myself thoroughly and intimately,
That when meeting new people I tend to be reserved,
That I speak candidly, never substituting a white lie for honesty,
That I view the world with a sense of humor to compliment my innate skepticism,
That every achievement of mine has come from diligence and responsibility, not from
natural ability,
And that my independence does not inhibit my open-mindedness.
But these are only qualities of my personality,
How can I identify and define the essence of my soul?
4
What is my elusive purpose in this enigmatic life?
I look not to God or any other supposed savior for the answer,
For I am my own savior, my own guide through the maze called life.
I have faith in myself and that allows me to find reason.
5
I am only a miniscule player in the immense drama which is this world.
The inadequate effect of my actions on the world seem to render me insignificant,
But I am an essential part of this infinite reality, a contributing member of Earth’s
dominant species.
I live and breathe the same life and world which is shared by all living things.
By the illustrious entertainer in his spacious Hollywood mansion,
By the homeless and forgotten beggar on the harsh city boulevard,
By the proud alpha male lion roaming the golden African savanna,
By the mangy sewer rat reveling in garbage and human waste.
I am a part of and one with all these things, but more defines me.
6
The comforting and captivating music which streams out of my speakers resounds
throughout my soul.
I am the dynamic drummer from South Philly, improvising an energetic solo with an afro
pick in my hair.
The revolutionary punk whose unknown East Bay trio evolved into a loud, worldwide
instrument for political change.
The poetic lyricist from rap’s mecca who maintains his integrity by sticking to the
essence of hip-hop while all others trade their souls for riches.
The tormented grunge icon who turned his angst into an art, identifying with a generation
before taking his own life.
I am the “ping” of the baseball meeting my metal bat,
And the baseball soaring magnificently through the summer air against the cloudless, sky
blue background.
And the glove on the outstretched arm of the centerfielder as he hopelessly reaches
skyward as the baseball floats over the outfield fence.
And the fresh-cut grass which serves as a soft and inviting landing for the far-traveled
baseball.
Living in the virtual fantasy world on the screen before me, I am content.
I am the fluorescent green, turbo-charged 3000GT racing through city traffic in pursuit of
glory and respect.
I am the master of combat drawing a futuristic assault rifle before annihilating a horde of
fiendish aliens.
I am the loud-mouthed wide receiver juking pursuing defenders before diving into the
endzone and humiliating my opponents with an imaginative celebration.
I am the kingpin of organized crime navigating my urban empire with a flamethrower,
torching anything that stands in my way.
I am anything I want to be, compliments of a 128-bit console.
When I ponder the Song of Shea Kelly, I envision a collection of places - Polaroids of
my life’s defining locales.
From the lush green, rocky coastline of my ancestors homeland,
To the pink bench swing on the cement porch of the Arts and Crafts house which I have lived
in my entire life,
To the shady spot under the weeping willow along the creek where I caught my first fish,
To the concrete paradise beneath I-95 where I used to perfect my ollies,
To the humble pizza parlor in my quiet college town with the cheese steaks I have loved
since childhood.
Peering into my soul, I can travel to the infinite number of places which identify me.
7
What makes me who I am is an array of what I am not capable of being.
My soul is a collage of emotions, traits, opinions, actions, relationships, hobbies, people, places, and things.
My body is the temple in which these things dwell.
I am what I am, unaffected.
I am mine.
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