Tuesday, May 24, 2016

May 24, 2016 - Pilgrim


Let this be my home, then
no looking back
all bridges burnt anyway
with nowhere to go
but forward.
Don’t cry over jagged rocks
that cut when you fall.
At least you still fall.
And frozen sheets of ice
that slice the skin.
At least you still feel.
No promises, then
from a barren coast
where even the sun hides
most days in shadowy gloom.
Each inch forged by man
slowly and painfully
one step at a time.
Tiny triumphs amid perpetual pain
but still carving home
deliberately chiseling god.

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