unknown_plan

The sun rises ...

The sun sets ... darkness follows day.

Each man is longing for a song, holding out his empty hand,

wandering in a circle. reaching for a hand to lead,

peering through the shadows.

weeping . . . while he plays.

aching . . . while he hurries.

What holds the answer?

Just to understand and know why I am here,

and where I am going . . . will give me roots which sink,

grasping the fabric of each day.

What unknown plan called my soul from eternity's cradle,

lifting me from gray shadows . . .

to live this golden day?