The stories we tell, the tales we wind, as we search for a truth to reveal. Where do our stories come from? Are they real, in a matter of fact way? Do we have reason to be true or hold secrets deep beneath the surface of our conscious mind.
We all have secrets, untold stories of revelry. Where we are the true heroes and everyone one else the villain. Stories of doubt, submission and misery. We are not the undo cause of our forlorn for we are the heroes. We are the character that befriends the unfriendly and becomes king. We are also the slave, slaves to the mind where our stories grow and bloom for anyone that will hear.
Is the truth worth revealing? A simple yet factual truth that is meant to bring forth joy, once it’s revealed. Is it better hidden, built upon small indifferent lies or mere tales too sweeten the pot for another ears to hear. Does it make you look brave? Maybe unaware to the villain until you are saved by a hero.
Does life get better with the stories we tell or can the truth prevail? Worthy of an audience we tell one true rendering in hopes of being saved. There really is no judge or jury only the predicament we placed ourselves in the bearer of the story.
Shall we stand today and voice our consciousness into submission. Tell a simple few shareholders a truth about ourselves never before spoken. There is no reason to reason the why this story began but to only give it an ending so a new story can begin.