Looking Back

The trail is narrow, the rugged climb steep.
I've miles to go before I sleep,
but with each step toward the distant end,
I pause to look back, and I pretend
that she is there on the path behind.
I convince my heart and my troubled mind
that she waves and beckons me join her there,
but here I stand and painfully stare
at the littered pieces of my broken heart,
shattered in grief, splintered apart
on this trail of sorrow I painfully trod
in a desperate search for the mercy of God.

There is no solace, no healing grace
in this desolate journey I daily face.
I have no goal, the end point's unclear.
I just run from the pain and I constantly fear
that without her love I will lose my way
over jagged stones from day to day.
I live in the hope that with each corner's turn
I will embrace the love for which I yearn.
I will walk into her waiting arms,
feel again the joy of her warmth and charm.

This trail of sorrow is narrow and steep.
Tell me, kind friend, the best way to keep
my eyes on the course laid out ahead
when my greatest fear, my deepest dread,
is that when I look back to see her behind,
there will be no signal, no visible sign,
just an empty pathway where I hoped to see
her beautiful smile as she waved to me.