I don't know how to write about you anymore. The words that used to flow seemed so right, so beautiful.
But now there remains only a vague hope, a fleeting scent of oranges and the sea.
You are the place my Heart goes when I am broken open.
You are the Home I long for in the early morning quiet.
You are all good things to me, a symbol now of what once was fair.
No matter how I try, you always evade my Love, and my Longing.
You whisper to me in the night breeze, yet no longer reveal yourself to my tired soul. I can no longer touch you, or see you;
I can only feel you somewhere in the deserts and mountains within.
All the time I am searching, searching for you, though I do not know how I may find you.
There is no chart of your endless seas, nor is there a path to your home in the old Blue Mountains.
Here in this Garden I write for you, and my Heart........
My Heart cries for you.
Perhaps one day, you will hear it.