So many things she’s always longed for
Linger there, outside her door;
There’s a passion to her yearning,
Always something, always more

Stuck here, tethered to her sorrows,
Pain, regret and comfort small;
Searching for those new tomorrows,
That she dreams of most of all

Not the life she would have chosen,
Not the girl she would have been;
Stuck in neutral, stiff and frozen,
Comes the longing once again

There: so many things she’s wanted,
Past control and past desire:
Not for riches, nor for glory,
Not for things one can acquire

But for only inner burning,
But for for only greater light;
For so many things, she’s dying –
Past her reach, and
Out of
Sight