The longing heart springs from a barren field
Its thoughts grow like sprouts
They stretch out for the sun
Yet, they had never before seen it.
A paradox of knowing without knowledge
Longing for what’s needed
Ignorant of the source
Whether or not this thirst is satisfied
Is only known in time
Waiting for the harvest
The heart’s longing then exists in new form
Now reaching out for more
Not for something lesser
Such is the longing heart.
“Restless is our heart until it comes to rest in thee.” — Augustine of Hippo