We live in a culture of individuality:
what we aspire to,
a filling ourselves up
with ourselves.
Ah, the miracle!
We might well fear loneliness
in quest for that unique seed
we term Self.

Still, something inside thrums,
knows to its core we are not now,
nor have we ever been
Separate.
Individual.
That is the myth of modernity.

What have we left behind then,
in this search for singularity?
How can we exist as unique,
save in relation to others?
Without them, who will tell us
of our wonder, our splendor,
our prowess and might,
our superior intellect?

Who will be there to stroke
our massive ego
in a strange little universe
Alone?

iu