Truth

a certain strain of
runs like veins 
through stone

history so grand, 
you might wish 
you'd been there

the romance of suffering
enviable to one outside of

fractured tales shift
with the landscape of
location, audience

a poverty of promise
not unique or eloquent
in being unfulfilled

every only-if the 
tragic, reliable constant

we are not so
special, after all

what lies behind 
the facade is still
less than ordinary 

turn, face our simple, 
humble truths;
the reality of us 
far more lovely
than all of 
our prior fiction

know that we are
collectively magnificent