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who am i?
by Charlie Morganif, of a morning, i became
Italo Calvino i'd continue
to watch the crowd below;
returning their gazes at me,
i would look away, perhaps
at my future, if not, then
maybe my grandson's future.
and as Italo's stories take
you away, all in his head,
you can turn each page
and find yourself into
a story, one that you're in,
but the story is not about
you...in a strange way
you can't get out of his
stories, nor him out of your head.
and Italo is just a man;
i share birthright but
no answers, yours or his. 05/11/2009 Posted on 05/11/2009
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 05/11/09 at 09:07 PM Yes, Socrates knew the impossible riddle "who am I" would put people on the impossible quest as the Geeks knew many riddles. But that one seems so easy, just reach inside and see. Ah, but the difficulty of understanding when you stand too close. Another good write Charlie. |
| Posted by Kris Mara on 05/12/09 at 12:19 PM some writers just have that ability...to place you right into the story...the question itself, too difficult to answer...who are any of us? Ah, too much for me to contemplate over lukewarm coffee! Thanks for sharing -- and expanding my thoughts (and now I have to read some I.C. too) |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 05/12/09 at 07:13 PM This offers such a different perspective, Charles. Separateness vs. unity - OR - simultaneous convergence of both? We are separate, otherwise I would be living your life and you mine. But....maybe it is more like that than we can grasp. It's a mystery, and that is all I know! |
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