O my Lord—
I will never find You,
yet there is only You.

I cannot touch You,
yet You are all that touches me.

I cry into the silence,
but Your silence does not break.

I pray until my voice is dust,
and still—You do not speak.

It is right—yes, it is right—
that You should abandon me.
For what I chase is not You,
but a shadow I cast upon Your name.

What I thought You were
could never be.
How small I made You—
pressed into the shape of my fear.

I used to find You
in broken bread and tender words,
in upturned hands and well-sung songs,
in the warmth of friends,
and sacred pages.

But now, my Lord—
You are all but gone.

And nothing remains
but my ache for You,
and faith.

This pain—
yes, even this—
is Your gentle call,
guiding me home.

So here I am.
Now I wait
in the dark,
with open hands,
and a heart that burns
only for You.