by Giuseppe Chiaramonte
Background: I think we all have a connection to a family moment when it either implodes or grows into a new creation. I thought growing up and into adulthood that I would be part of the latter family and we would live happily ever after. But this did not happen and I watched my mom leave my dad after thirty years of marriage. I was forced to look at my own family and make decisions in light of my mother’s new found confidence, truth, and authentic self-realization. I immediately started writing and Spark was born. I intentionally provided no breaks in the narrative because the words came so fast and with such force that I was done in less than thirty minutes.
Sometimes it takes one note to glimpse into my soul. One breath upon the wind of inspiration, one careless letter riding the dust mote reaching an unlimitless unfathomable consciousness. Awakened from the pathway of darkness, where is the inspiration that searches the spirit and has the ability to understand. It lies dormant hidden by the vices of a world content to bring down those that are numb. I feel you; I see you; I know you, you can’t hide from me. At times I seem lost but there are parallel paths that one must jump back and forth along life’s journey. They do not intersect, I know that as I sit depressed, the gray clouds gathering about my life filtering the sun so that only feelings of melancholy absorb the glint. Do not hide your face from me. I can feel the power, the beauty, the face of the eternal. The seed, the spark momentarily firing. I want to live with this hope. No foe can stand in my way as I write these words with a force of an incoming thunderstorm; allow the lighting to sizzle and permeate the very ground below me, sound the trumpet of the deep groan of thunder, pour forth the torrential rains of cleansing for my skin reeks of blackness. Cancer crawls along searching for the chink in the armor; oh I long for this sliver of passion to absorb my essence like a bird set free from captivity let my clipped wings stretch wide to caress the wind, bobbing effortlessly along the currents. Waves lap against the sides of my ship; oh how the tides have rolled in like a tsunami hell bent to destroy and maim. I am still here. I call to you voiceless in the maelstrom of the tornado; why do you not hear my words? My voice is the same as when I was a child, powerless against the full weight of the world yet standing up to the bully who beat me down; for months on end I cried and still I was not protected. I fought and still fight today for myself. All I want is good to hold in one hand the life inside of me. I am eternal; I can feel the burn of a billion fires all of whom speak words of wisdom. No paper, no words, no actions, no past or present can tell me my future. I stand with all of my humanity as a testament to you. I am you; made from the dust of the earth to affect what! I come from a dispossessed mother, a father who feels but cannot express, a family torn asunder by the deceit of many. Yes you want my voice. You want my conviction. You want my passion to balance on the spear point driven into the soul. Spark–Flip the Switch–Build the Bonfire–Light the room for the words spill forth as a testament to all that I am. We have been set into motion until stilled by circumstance. Grasp the steel handle and drag the weight like all that have gone before and will come. I do not want to test you. I desire to know your truth. Who are you for the truth is not what the world preaches through the lens of desire. Is it the same hope one hundred, two hundred, one thousand years ago? Will eons pass before the social order looks on through the mirror and sees only themselves? Grains of sand shift back and forth side to side against and with the seamless patterns of marked time. Give me one iota of truth and I will give you a life worth living. Serve me a platter of steaming platitudes that for no other reason hold themselves upright against a mass of humanity.