The road ahead -
Just thorns and stone;
The wind blowing,
In directions unknown.

No rose, no gold,
No joy the eyes can see;
Nothing, far into the future,
Nothing in the forlorn past.

Desolate fields, empty hearts
No shade from the tiring heat;
Sole soul in the desert,
Deserted by life itself.

Ruined; the heart asks,
For a small rainbow
That it knows,
May never be born.

The faint smell - that yet haunts -
Of a spring long forgotten;
Old traces of sunshine, and
Of a flower that once grew.

Was there ever a summer?
Even, long, long ago?
In a previous birth?
Perhaps.

Miles and miles of barren land,
And vast spaces of solitude;
Everything seemingly insane,
And still, the unending rain.

And yet, the heart asks,
Though its clear
No green may ever be found;
For seeds to grow.

The smile in the mirror,
Now a far away memory;
Now only emptiness
And a tear.

The search for something,
Perhaps the heart knows not what;
Yet, even if it knew,
What life would come of it?

Life is cruel, She does make
Bitter people, of us all;
And yet she is generous
In her gifts of darkness.

The question then arises,
And with no answer forthcoming
The heart still asks -
Will there ever be light anew?