Where can a lover go but the arms of the beloved?
Where can a seeker find rest except in the desire of the heart?
To them patience brings no peace and the breast is void,
For many lives are given in the quest.

Running here and there, 
bleeding from the arrow of love,
The wayfarer stumbles, feet grown weary, 
The body worn to a sigh.

A cry of sorrow rings in the night 
And the fire of longing turns to despair.
With a mind empty of patience, hope falls like ashes,
But what can be done for the sick at heart but
Hasten the madness of the search?

Ages pass. Precious lives begin and end.
How much longer is the wait?
Then as wretched cries tears from the heart
A small inner light glimmers.

Halting, breath heaving, pain pinching the side,
Too tired take another stride.
”Can this be the end?” the intellect asks,
But wisdom knows nothing bears without pain.

 Dross burned way,
The inner eye sees deaths unveiled secrets,
The heart burnished with soul-shine…

Crystal and pure The Voice rings:
“Close the outer doors and claim the prize.”

~ Caryl ~

5-20-05

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