The Measure of a Man

what does it mean to be a man?

what is this stuff of which i am made?

am i defined by the things that i do,

these things that i gather unto me

and fashion into a shrine to immortalize myself?

i throw all these things away in disgust

like a snake shedding it's skin

and still i feel the pulse of life within me

i hear the ancient rhythm in my ears

and feel it vibrating all around me.

what is this subtle animation in my flesh

this current which drives my muscle and bone?

my hand feels it's likeness in the trunk of a tree

my tongue recognizes the salty taste of the sea

my blood flows like the mighty Missouri

my every breath makes me one with the sky.

the man that i am passes through this body

like sunlight through a prism

and will afterwards pass onwards.

who knows what path i shall trace through the heavens?

who can measure the limits of my Self,

when the universe plays itself out in my dreams?