Inside everyone of us exists a chorus.
A picture-present, set of voices.
In this abstract, I find thought  & reality
to be a singular unit.

Each conglomerate sings of a present desire/want.
We are made gods in this place, bounded of course by the limitations of our own imagination.  

Some thoughts are wicked, some thoughts are pleasant.
Some thoughts must be simply kept wholesome, to keep the world from our essence.

Sadly, i find that nothing i conjure is 100% my own.
Each spin of the web is a subset creation of some else's ideas, someone else problems.  In this i find that free will of course is also evaporated.
i the author stands on the shoulder of another.
in this realization i am set free.