Indefinite

by Vincent Lamola

 

I am not the name
Which I am given from birth
In order to respond to
When I am summoned,
Nor am I the character defined by its past images
And acts fore-sought,
I am not the owner of this book
Nor the voice trapped inside this meat-suit
Propelling this hand to write,
I am not even “me”
I am not he who saw
Or he who can’t see,
I may be the sight.
I am not he who heard
Or he who can’t hear,
I may be the sound within the silence.
I am not he, who told or kept,
Or kept and told the stories,
I may be the truth within these tales.
Maybe I’m nothing,
Maybe I AM,
But no,
I AM……………..

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