O wandering heart of mine,
I trace your tracks up this hill
but I do not see where you go.
Day and night you wander,
paying little heed to burnout.
Across all entrances and exits
you dash simultaneously,
drifting unreservedly.
I trace your movements
but only find traces
of questions you leave behind.
I cannot understand your tracks,
they are unimaginably complex.
I cannot number your steers,
they are infinite in number.
You disperse in prideful splendour
to flounder in collective shatter.
Your pride-filled ways mislead,
moving but going nowhere precise.
Your words are multi-minded,
yet you push to enforce your will.
You wail with outbursts of desire,
yet, en route your solo dash,
you desire nothing ultimately meaningful.
To turn my hurt to life. I sit and contemplate. Could it be, a reason for every hurt, every mixed conflict, moment of pain, sorrow and disillusionment, is eternal glory? Eternal glory that outweighs hurt and transforms to life?
I pause and contemplate. I try to fix my eyes on what is eternal but struggle.
Lord, be a banner over me and take me to the place you want me. Like a leaf that falls and dillydallies mid-air, I too dream to land on gentle waters, that purify the soul and unravel a renewed horizon of hope unto a new day.
Emmanuel Johnson 
