The Great Yearning

Unquenching thirst in scorching sands With doleful steps as if once banned, From mother home, lost paradise While wandering wayward days and nights. As scorpions sting and vipers’ hiss With broken bones and loneliness, Filled with weeping, creeping, seeking More, crawling ‘long the desert floor. While raining rockets fill the skies Smoke and ashes blind the eyes, Hoping all the hellishness will end Praying silently to ascend. As dreams no longer ease the mind And all the saints you once thought kind, Have left you here to drift, bereft A solitary soul, misfit. In search of that lost pot of gold The one they say is Mighty old, And glistens with the light of love Ubiquitous mystery, soaring dove. Still stumbling, tumbling, moving on Faith shattered, battered, nearly gone, Yet mercifully a dimly lit discerning, Incessant, quiescent, Great yearning. © Terrell Martin, 02/10/2025