I walked those gardens where we met, a lifetime or was it two ago, holding your hand within my own, feasting on that gaze of yours, so full of trust: the source of my tranquillity.
I saw the tree on which our names were carved and thought of how we smiled, merging our joint destinies: in you was everything I sought. You saved me from myself at last, granting me my self-belief, but strengthened by your blind support, I let myself new conquests find, each one of which you forgave till I exhausted all your faith: I was man lost to himself, abandonment posed as bravery, who fled from purpose, or any sense of dignity.
You married someone else, I hear, and lived the life you offered me, while I walked on a thousand miles, reflecting my dreams are scarred by grief.
Man may travel without rest, seeking for his Promised Land, that sacred place where gentle souls discover peace of mind. I have not reached that place, I know, so journey on without respite, walking with people much like me, who drift through life in search of hope.
I am as lost as man can be, I cannot call it otherwise, but somewhere in my secret place, safe from harm or casual glance, you sometimes raise your eyes to me.