YEARNINGS

As the swirling winds of his desolate heart blow
They seem to carry him into a quiet isolation,
And hold him there, all alone, in the storm, sands of time,
Like some small grain of sand,
Insignificant on a somber shore of a secluded sea,
Seemingly neglected by humanity.

He searches his heart for the reason why
He feels this way on this sad, bitter night.
He reminisces of times being gone, of what is to come,
And of what can never be again.
He is dispossessed on the solitude and frozen wasteland
At the core of his restless soul.

He wonders if he is lost here for universal eternity
Or if there is light at the end of this turbulent road on which he is traveling.
Is this the road of never-ending futility and sorrow
Or does it lead to a brighter or more peaceful place?
Perhaps this is a long, twisting road
Of hope, of faith, of love, and of desire.

Is this the end of the road,
Or the beginning of something much greater?