I realized today what I want. Something that's been hitting me over the past...Oh I don't know...several months, and culminated in the past few weeks. I want to write. I'm not saying I'm good and I'm not saying anything I do write will be worth a flip. I'm saying that the gift of being able to write something beautiful and amazing would be greater than any gift anyone could give me. Shakespeare and all the others were right. A thing of beauty is a joy forever, and to write something beautiful, something that would someone would love or hate, to write something that would make someone stand back and say...there...there is an idea. There is a surprising lack of options in this world in the terms of it has all been done before (thank you barenaked ladies) but you'd be surprised at the new or renovated vehicles in which these ideas arrive. And an idea doesn't have to be new to be good. So, in an effort to actually keep true to whatever I am trying to do here, I leave you with this:
A priest to the confessions of this world:
To hear the heartache - bitter memories
I cannot heal the gaping wounds so bold
And so I hide within my rectory
Against the troubles of this life to arm
Would take an army sure and strong - to heal
Takes more strength than to place the scars of harm,
To conquer hate takes more than cold sharp steel.
The dark and dismal hold of hurt is tight
And rips the hope from minds already weak
But dark is counterbalanced by the light
And goodness - Godness - into dark will leak
To trust int he Almighty with all my might
Will bring these dark confessions into right.
