Writing
these poems in the light of the darkness and I know nobody cares and I’ve
gotten used to that and so much more.
It’s
like you’re a leper and as your fingers and toes fall off and people see that
your body is becoming disassembled they just look on because it’s not happening
to them so why should they care?
And
the advent of social media hasn’t made anything any better because though we
may be more directly connected how many selfies or pictures of your big toe or
your cat playing the piano do we really need to see before Rome again burns and
the Coliseum again goes dark?
The
light of the darkness has become my only trusted ally as I read yet another
post from her about this or that dictator and if you disagree with her she’ll put
you down like a nonsensical dog because the tyranny of her own words has become
quite intoxicating.
From
the first poem I wrote when I was fourteen years old I knew something was
happening and it wasn’t to be taken for granted because cliché or not the pen
is most definitely mightier than the sword and with great power comes an even
greater responsibility.
The
words pour from me like blood from a wound that will never stop bleeding no
matter how much pressure is applied. I was a dying man from the second I sat
down in front of my sister’s typewriter and for the first time felt comfortable
in my own timeline.
Resistance
is futile because we’re all going to head into the light sooner than later.
And
the light of the darkness never bears false witness because what fun is there
in that especially when your twelve best mates know Jesus personally.
Writing
these poems under the covers with the help of a flashlight as the words like
trail mix accompany me into the wilderness.
Charles Cicirella
10/3/16
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