by Giuseppe Chiaramonte
“I” is a commonality amongst the greater good. “I” cannot figure out where “I” am supposed to be. “I” don’t know why this is and “I” would appreciate an honest discussion on the need to find the missing piece to the puzzle of life. “I” don’t feel empty or depressed or need a pat on the back; “I” simply desire to look out the window and not see a reflection of Me. “I” want to peer momentarily on whatever is greater, that which is immortal, unforeseen in the vastness of inherent beauty. “I” live in a time of social upheaval, digitally condensed into the microchip of the internet. Even now “I” type away on a plastic computer with personal words that are stored on a cloud, entrusted to a concept that is not My own. Do They still live and breathe? Do My words ring true with all the passion, dreams and heartfelt longings that one human can pass on to another? Do My words live in black on the digital pages of progress? “I” am but just a dust mote on the shifting current of reality. “I” am dispossessed until what; “I” die and realize it was all for naught. “I” am so much more than “I” want to be; “I” turn uncomfortably caught in the net without recourse. “I” seek some type of fulfillment as only one letter leads to one word and then one sentence becomes who “I” am. “I” cannot express the joy “I” have in writing. There is no comparison as thoughts spill onto the pages. “You” cannot hinder the incomprehensible, “You” cannot touch my spirit, “You” are not allowed to speak falsehoods of which “I” know the truth. “My” voice is silent buried within the restrictions of societal common decency. Tenderly “I” wait for the moment which has always been there. Maybe “I” need to embrace the who “I” am instead of who “You” want Me to be. Acceptable? Will that define the “I”? Is that the legacy MY children will comprehend? Force fed social constructs and paradigms seeking to rip the spark of a hope imbedded in one idea. “I” stop for a moment to say “I” am My own worst enemy. “I” know that. “I” possess vices, dark desires, skeletons that roam unfettered through the dusty closets. “I” scream with arms stretched forth, manacled by chains straining to constrain because “I” am no more human than “You”. Is it a manifesto “I” seek? Am “I” predestined to walk alone in a personal hell devoid of “You”? “You” want to know something; “I” am not who “I” say “I” am. Neither are “You”. Look deep “You” who seek to restrain the heart which beats unrelenting to a finality “I” cannot escape. “I” am immortal, “I” must be, for if “I” am not: dust be to dust. Let Me return to where “I” came as futility embraces hope in the dance of the Gods. “You” laugh at Me. “You” must, there is no other answer as the world has turned for eons. “I” release this burden and “I” will write to spite “You”; “I” will pour forth My own power and answer the foolish precepts which consistently bombard My person.