Sitting,
staring,
wondering,
on the world busily advancing.
Things are happening,
mysteriously moving, as if without end.
For each one has a longing,
desperately - even to loathing,
but for what cannot fully be told.
Age old fables tell of ten thousand lovers
whose love found no resting.
In hills,
in valleys,
in deserts,
in forests,
pined away as captives in their own prison.
Folk tales preserve hunters seeking unspoiled treasures,
whose incessant search found unhappy ending.
In caves,
in seas,
in distant lands,
in islands,
died, a single treasure never to behold.
All to common is the story's familiar tone.
Instantly recognizable in universal speech,
it breaks upon the shadowy rocks of our hearts.
I Look, but never will I find. For what I am seeking hides in eternal shadows.
I Yearn, but never to be satisfied. For the vestige of which I yearn darkens into heavenly obscurity.
I Long, but never will I taste for the object of my longing is known only to the celestial throng.
'Then slowly and reluctantly, bit by bit, I try to bring myself into the frame of mind that I should be in at all times. I remind myself that all these toys were never intended to possess my heart, that my true good is in another world and my only real treasure is Christ.' - C. S. Lewis
Picture: Chad McGavock