Longing

Deep within is a longing for paradise, 

a craving for Eden.

At every turn seeking to enter glory

in a vastness beyond comprehension.

Beauty and splendor I try to create, blissfulness,

wonder, peace, and rest.

Yet Eden eludes me, ever close but always distant.

The secret garden of my soul, I can not recreate. 

Birds, blooms, and bumblebees.

Benches, weeping boughs, and running streams.

Still these do not satisfy the longing within.

Works of iron, stone, wood, and clay 

do not quell the souls ache.

Perhaps it's not paradise, nor

the secret garden with its key.

What is this longing, this desire within?

Have I been misguided in my quest?

What are those words of ancient days

about a garden in the cool of the day?

A presence among the trees and those hidden away.

Naked and afraid I hide myself.

Running from, “Where are you?”

Can it be a One, and not a place or a when,

a connection, and not a notion?

A moment when all was right, indeed it was very good.

Oh my soul is your true longing, not for a garden, 

but for Him?

Deep within is a longing…