Pilgrim’s Progress
A Poem
Down a country road I went — grassy, wet, slippery.
Inviting.
Deep down a temple awaited — in it an adytum,
Holy of holies.
Virgin paths.
Unruffled grass.
Narrow roads closed in,
Gripping me with juicy hands –
Yearning yet restraining.
Boots? No boots? Ehmm, no boots.
But, no boots? Sense wondered.
Pilgriming houses all ’em dangers,
All ’em dark corners,
All ’em unforeseens.
Sensibility didn’t wonder.
Boots? No!
This was no regular pilgrimage.
They must be savored — the scents,
Braved — the slippery surfaces.
I dug in, unshod.
It serenaded me, the countryside:
Moans muffled and soft,
Whispers loud and unheard.
Warm earth spurted aromatic juices,
Watering its primal grounds
Like a royal deflowering aide.
I slipped along the juicy earth,
Sliding inward,
Slipping farther,
And farther.
Then...
Behold it!
Holy of holies!
Behold the adytum!
Behold the adytum,
Its sealed gate leaking earth-soaking juices,
Its aura inviting,
Its feel indescribable.
I slipped in; first pilgrim, blessed pilgrim.
Ointments of joy greased me,
Fountains of goodness blessed me,
Showers of sweetness bathed me.
Then the superstructure rumbled.
It was a song.
A song of love and loss,
A song of whispers and screams,
A song of pain and joy.
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