Apart

Long, long have I wandered through fields not my own.
I'm a man with no county, a child with no home;
Wonder, do you, from whither I wander?
Oh, indeed, whither,
For I am not of the foxes or fishes or birds of a feather
That, when given chance, will each gather together...
For long have I hushed footfalls in bold, brazen tread
Of the saints, with their saintly visions lifting my head.
And, lest the running should rouse and ruffle the dead,
(These corpses are my friends and familiars, or so they've said,)
Have I hidden my heavenly haunt, have I misled.
Until only the closet knows of these wide, searching eyes
Crying for my beloved and searching the skies.
And I am so hounded, so horrifically pressed
Lest all that matters bow to matter and be missed,
Lest my longings stray from heaven, must I persist,
Until worn, torn, unbeaten but bowed
I open hands and let my heart cry loud,
Crying:
"Oh, Father, hear me,
None knows of my searchings,
None but You knows my pursuit.
What else do You want from me?
What else can I do?
Long, long have I wandered through fields not my own.
I'm a man with no county, a child with no home;
I've given all that I know, and I'm still apart from You."