Honesty

And if I had a vision, it's been lost amidst the detritus of this acceptable life I lead.
Chased away as I trip in the darkness over the forgotten toy, fold one more clean shirt, listen with only a fraction of my attention, engage a limited portion of my intellect.
The doubting voice believes that there was no vision, this is my attention, I've overstated my intellect.
But in the end it doesn't really matter which voice is right because my deepest heart yearns for something different from this absence.

I cannot abide creating falsely dramatic situations in such a broken and harsh world.
I bleed over injustice, cry over tragedy, love over greatness, pray over it all and then hide under the bed when the storm comes, patiently waiting for it to pass.
Because in the end, my deepest heart yearns for something magnificent.

I am not beautiful and cannot submit myself to tragedy and will not deny the truth of my place.
But I think, once, I had a vision.