THE PILGRIM

The raging subtlety propels her into fierce audacity, Cognizant of the Master’s semblance, seasoned agony. Whose countenance was subdued in blood and sweat, Never losing sight of the price, many a soul to save, ever sweet. And so, the pilgrim, as sure as unfailing hope, Walked the path less travelled, scanty in pop. If you should see the pilgrim, her posture slanted sideways, Her feet, with a staggering beauty, bound by duty always, You might consider a new shoe, in your spontaneity. You might consider a quick lift to lessen the lethargy. You might consider new beads for the rosary, less sweaty. But the pilgrim seeks not the comfort of novelty. The pilgrim desires to overcome the vice of flesh, To embrace the sharp thorn of discomfiting mess. Honed by unrelenting thirst, drenched in sweaty grittiness. Purified under the scorching sun, hushed by thoughts of unworthiness Raised in union with things above, mortified of transgression. Hastening and scurrying, to be rid ...