What I know to be true,
What I hope will be,
Sometimes they collide,
And the brilliance of it all,
The blinding splendor,
Covers the silhouettes of all the was,
Empties the fear out of me,
As if it never was,
But the light,
It's the kind that dies when it touches the ground,
It's the kind that reminds you of how small it is,
That no matter how bright it might be,
It will always have me in its way,
And I am the fault in it,
I am the grain that never will be a pearl,
I am the straw that never will be the needle,
I am not meant to see it,
It's blasphemy if I do,
And that is,
What I know to be true.