Joy

One of my early attempts to express the inexpressible.

There are some things
in this world
that break my heart
not from the sorrow
but from the joy they bring
and for brief moments
I sense
that the deepest longings
of my whole being and life
have been touched.
But as swiftly as it comes
it is gone,
like a sweet fragrance
riding on the breeze
tarries only long enough
to awaken awareness.
It is a joy so deep, so rich
and so satisfying
that to think it something
I will one day possess
seems wistful and foolish.
And yet it is simple,
like the innocence of childhood.
It costs nothing,
at least nothing
this world could offer.
It is not found
in this world at all
though sometimes
a musical sound
or a picture
or a child’s voice
or the sparkle of sun on water
or the sweet fragrance of a flower
or the brilliant starry sky
of the quiet of twilight
or the soft roar of the ocean
reflect small glimpses
of a greater joy.
I know that the object
of my desire
is not to be found
in any of these things.
I know because I have looked:
Under closer examination
the reflections
which once brought joy,
lose their luster.
Only memories remain,
and these quickly fade.
It is becoming
more and more
apparent to me
that I have
longings,
desires,
hungers
and thirst
that this world
and all it contains
could never hope
to satisfy.
Coarse imitations abound,
but they would only
leave me empty.
Though some things
in this world
sometimes give a glimpse
of ultimate joy,
they are not in themselves
what bring joy.
It seems that they only
point towards
something greater
which abides not
in this world.