I, The Poet/I, The Man - a poem by S D Wickett

I, The Poet/I, The Man is a poem written by Bournbrook’s S D Wickett.

I, The Poet/I, The Man is a poem written by Bournbrook’s S D Wickett, and can be read below the appendix. For more of his poems, follow him on his Instagram account @songsofafoggedmind_ and Twitter account @essdeewickett.

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I, The Poet/I, The Man

I, the poet,

I, the man;

Who cut his arm and bled not red

but dismal shades of blue 

I, who long since cast my vestal chains.

I, who broke hearts,

spoke without care,

wrote with a flair

and picked my teeth with shards of glass.

I, who prays to no god bar Bacchus,

Walks no sands but Thracian.

I, who wakes upon the shore;

Shakes off the night before,

And glistens once again.

I, who shared a thousand stares,

a thousand lives,

Seen and seldom remembered,

Like a thousand drops of rain.

I, who captured eyes and ears,

Who conquered death and fear;

who fell and rose, and fell and rose,

and gorged on my own tail.

I, who gave magnetism its own name,

who conquered guilt and shame.

I, who now sits all alone

on a throne of skulls,

That once belonged to friend and foe;

whom I climbed above and left in tow,

and kicked once they were down.

I, who shan't regret a thing,

for there is no longer 'I';

Only hubris standing up;

dressed in flesh and blood,

disguised in a smile,

a hug that beguiles,

a fox upon the farm.

I, the monster,

I, the fool,

I, the one who fell again.

I, the general,

with no plan.

I, the poet,

I, the man.