Blessed Am I's Poem by Christopher Neil

Blessed am I,
Is the man I despise.
Who tells the truth,
But lies form his I’s.
Who yells at his youth,
But dies from his pride.
Who aches like a tooth,
But hides his cries.

It’s his I’s that divide,
On his I’s he relies.
It's the I’s that lift his head,
And his I’s that hold it high.
His I’s will face his fears,
His I's will shed no tears,
And his I’s are not surprised,
As his spirit starts to fly.

His I’s see potential,
These I’s that realize.
His I’s are red with passion,
Like the setting of summer skies.
But darkness lives live’s,
And his I’s can not hide.
His I’s are all that’s left,
And his I’s are blessed…
Am I?