The Wanderers

The wanderers be those
Who never find the purpose
Searched for.
They know that just beyond the edge
Of what they see
Is what they need so,
Biding time
And placing bets
They roll the dice again,
And again.
And each time they lose they know
That with the next throw
Luck will hold their hand,
And kiss their lips.
The sun will shine and
Somehow all the emptiness,
All the lonliness in crowded places
Will evaporate.
They'll find out what their mission is,
They'll know the purpose they can dedicate
That soul explosion, lieing just beneath the skin, to.
Forever felt by wanderers
But never understood,
Ah, that it might grow into a pearl of great price

But never will.