Unbeliever's Yearning

Standing on high, hands cold,

not another soul to behold.

Half a mile up, just the way I like,

made it worth the hike.

Just rocks and wind and sky,

It’s not mine to ask why,

but to find and thank just one

then this journey would be done.

The bench, it does invite,

in cold comfort, these words I write.

with silence, space, and time,

clarity no longer sublime.

A peace is here, I’ve found

so high above that ground

where I started long ago,

many steps and thoughts before.

Still, the earth is calling,

but I’ve no heart for this falling

until I’ve found that special one;

this walk will not be done.

Does one stand with me, I mumble;

was it me that caught my stumble?

or shall I let the world continue

to set my skin against my sinew?

This quest shall not be done

before I’ve found that one

makes me think when all is quiet,

yearning to thank one so.