Voice of Reason

The folded paper, slips out of my hand as the wind picks up. It floats across the stage and down the stairs where it rests, waiting to be found waiting to be opened. I sit and day dream about things that have yet to happen, people whom I have yet to understand, conversations that have not occurred. I think of your voice, as it moves from your lips into the microphone, as it projects into the hearts of others, as it rests inside their hearts as it does mine. A seed has been planted I impatiently wait to discover what will grow, but I know I must not rush this, I must wait, I must seek what is right, what is pure, what is truth. So until the first fruit is bore, I will wait, I will day dream.