Hopeless is the heart of sorrow,
rattling through a hollow world,
drowning in its own emptiness.

Yet within the ache,
a voice awakes—
Soft as a mother’s song,
drifting through the morning mist,
calling her beloved home.

Gently,
oh gently,
ever so softly,
she rocks you—

Wake up, wake up...
You are fast asleep,
dreaming you are awake.

My love,
you are safe.

Here.
Now.

Cradled in silence,
within the endless womb of God.

It matters not
where I wander,
nor which road I tread—
I find no peace.

I call to You,
my Lord… my Lord…
Where are You?
Yet the heavens remain still.

And it matters not
what gold I gather,
nor whose hand I hold—
I feel so hollow.

Once more I cry,
my Lord… my Lord…
Where are You?
But again, heaven is mute.

Long I journeyed—
faithful in seeking.
I scanned each horizon,
knocked at every door.

Until at last,
with nowhere left to run,
and nothing left to reach,
I fell—
into the fire of despair.

So I turned—
not outward,
but inward.

Into the silence I once feared,
I sank.

There,
alone in stillness,
I met the depth of my own soul.
I laid down all searching—
and realised—
You’d been here all along.

My Lord… my Lord…