Wandering

Wandering My wanderings have led me far From open oceans to roads of tar. My wanderings had but one purpose: To find the meaning hiding subsurface. To find the meaning that once was But is now a life reduced to ash. To find what once was in my heart Where now is ice, so cold and dark. On the ocean I bobbed about With port in hand, to still the doubt. Doubts I had of what I’d find The doubts my hopes had left behind. In Jerusalem on a bench I sat And even there no voice spoke back. And when the night got flood by light The Garden answered not my plight. But in my room on a warm, dark night A voice spoke up, ever so slight: “You look for me so far and wide But why not look right at your side?”