The Road Led Us to Foreign Lands

To foreign lands, our road was cast,
Alone we stood, outstripped and vast.
This ache of parting grips our chest
If we’re not exiled, say, what are we?

Each blow has come, without delay,
Friends turned to foes along the way.
And hopes we held in promised hands
If we’re not lost, then who are we?

We stood before a stranger’s gate,
Surely this is not the end we sought.
Each moment fades in patient wait
If this isn’t longing, then what do we feel?

We tied our hopes to dreams unknown,
But does the frost bring blossoms grown?
Can roads be found past hills alone?
If we’re not pilgrims, what are we?

Now day is darker than the night,
And thus we drift beyond the light.
A quiet ache in hearts contrite
If we’re not weary, what are we?

(October 2012)