Motorcycle Messiah in the Desert of Questions

I walked through a desert of empty space,
Where silence wore the color of dust,
And the wind carried pockets of questions
Like old newspapers tumbling across forgotten roads.

The earth was thirsty there,
Cracked with the weight of unspoken prayers,
And every horizon promised an answer
That dissolved into heat before I could touch it.

I searched for love in the vacant eyes of strangers,
Standing beneath flickering neon halos,
But their windows were dark, and their curtains drawn,
No one seemed home,
Or willing to remember the song.

So, I wandered deeper into the mystery,
Asking if purpose lives beyond
The tangled highways of thought and feeling,
Beyond the maps the mind keeps drawing
On the back of a restless soul.

I held onto my dreams
Like a traveler clutching a single candle
In a storm of invisible rain.
Hope was all I owned,
And even hope sometimes trembled in my hands.

Still, I waited for my Jesus,
Not descending from clouds of glory,
But roaring through the twilight on a motorcycle,
Leather jacket shining with starlight,
Laughing as He headed toward the cosmic party,
Waving at the lonely prophets
Standing beside the road.

And I wondered:

Am I alone in this waiting?
Alone in this caring?
Alone in this sacred doubt
That questions even the sunrise
And examines every rainbow
For signs of hidden truth?

I long for understanding,
Yet each vision opens another doorway,
And behind each doorway
Waits a thousand more questions,
Dancing like children in the moonlight.

Yesterday sits beside me
Like an old friend with tired stories.
Tomorrow waves from a distant hill
Wrapped in morning mist.

Is tomorrow any better than yesterday?

The desert does not answer.

But somewhere beyond the horizon,
An engine hums beneath the stars,
And the road stretches endlessly forward,
Calling my name,
Calling your name,
Calling all wanderers home.