Longing

In the sable sky sits a silver moon, looking for the golden sun returning soon. Isn't this the day the Lord has made, filled with light and wonder? Why then am I suddenly empty, lonely, detached, and rent asunder? Where does one go with such brokenness following the Wind through the valley, over the hill of divinity, past the mountain, beyond the stars, and into the impossible infinity? With the end of longing it shall come at last; over the hill, and far beyond the broken and wending past. 'It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.' - Agnes Repplier