The Hiatus

I is a remark.
An exclamation of delight.
A word of the proud;
The hollow of the weak.
It usually appears
When the self elevates
From the recesses of a crowd
To sometimes,
The domain of the gods.

I is a pronoun.
A substitute of the self.
A mask, some may say.
That hides the wrinkles
Of age and suffering.
For it is young.
As young as they
Who dare speak it.
Few are those
Who realize
That when they speak I
They become immortals.
Ageless with overflowing youth.

Yes, I is infinite.
For humans die and perish.
But I does not.
And I is the one.
The only one.
Even that which
Suffers the peril
Of hate and love,
Without end.

Don’t you see?
I is the one.
For I is alone…

Hence, I is nothing.
If it isn’t a mark—
A separation,
Where the self ends
And You begins.

And You,
You, my dear,
Is everything!

~ by daerd on November 25, 2007.