A gentle breeze whispers tales of old,
Of a soul, adrift on life's tempestuous sea,
Seeking the shores of a distant, golden fold.
Through the valley of the shadow it wanders,
A silent shadow, with eyes that seek,
The stars that twinkle with promises unspoken,
A universe that seems to mock its meek.
In the heart of the bustling, busy throng,
It finds itself a stranger, lone and strange,
A spectator in the play of joy and sorrow,
A note that's out of tune in life's grand range.
The laughter of the merry-makers rings,
A foreign language to its weary ears,
The love that's shared in tender, fleeting moments,
A treasure it can only watch from afar, with tears.
It ponders on the purpose, on the why,
Of the fleeting life that dances by its side,
The dreams that fade like morning's gentle dew,
The hopes that soar, only to be denied.
In the silence of the night's dark shroud,
It questions, doubts, and fears it's lost,
The eternal sorrow of the wandering soul,
In the labyrinth of existence, ever tossed.
But in the hush, a voice so soft and low,
Speaks of a journey, a path to find,
Of a purpose in the chaos, a light to show,
A meaning in the sorrow, left behind.
So the soul continues, through the ages vast,
A pilgrim in the realm of the unknown,
In the eternal sorrow of its endless quest,
Finding solace in the hope that's never shown.
For in the sorrow, there lies a beauty, rare,
A strength that's forged in the fires of despair,
The wandering soul, in its eternal quest,
Finds a purpose in the sorrow it dares to share.