Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Look up on the sky,
the stars were too high
and soon I'll let you down
we're the lost Pilgrims,
the believers that the Earth
will stop its rotation
we're in the middle of it all,
untill you recognize my face again.
I hold your hands
and somehow, we'll find our way.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2016
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]

Following a Path Worn by Pilgrims
                         -Doctor Zhivago, p. 75

No one is first along a pilgrim road
Other footsteps began our journey for us -
To Bethlehem, Emmaus, Damascus –
Wherever the heart is centered in hope

Someone has stepped on this cactus before
And sat on that rock to pull out the spines
And muttered about the indignity
Of a holy man pestered with stickers

But humility is part of the search

Because

No one is last along a pilgrim road
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Syrian pilgrims on boats of hope
Finding no place to land
No one to lend them a hand
No Plymouth Rock to throw rope
How can Republicans cope?

They believe this land is their's
Exclusively, for a Macy's parade
A big balloon with man in stockade
Thanking themselves, saying prayers
Really just showing no one cares

Blaming it on religious beliefs
Though zealots they are themselves
Confusing truer issues as well
Where have gone the Indian chiefs?
To Mexico forced by Trump's police
Hoping for some greater compassion this Thanksgiving.
Leal Knowone Nov 2015
going down this long lost road
traveling under the waning moon
thinking upon memories of old
I feel my impending doom
we are pilgrims in the age of fire
we are gods.. truth we aspire
voyaging deserted corridors
painted in cast iron blood
a great spectacle of gore
like nothing you could think of
elaborate scheme between hunter and pray
scrambling the mind and left in disarray
K Balachandran Feb 2015
Lean on my chest, gentle one, let's sit holding hands,
mountain breeze whispers Shanti mantras, let's repeat it,
may tranquil be our souls, we aren't weary yet, but the ardor
of the climb ends here; from this vintage point we are,
distant heaven and beloved earth, look deceptively equidistant,
rest your eyes on mine, let me see eternity flashing it's light.

Don't even say a word, what your heart beat says is to my heart,
the view from this peak is what we dreamt always,remember?
an incredible leap of the souls, now we feel, is the reward of  the trek
we are equanimous, yet the  tears in your doe eyes, I can't bear,
we are mortals, pain is a mongrel, our faithful companion to the end.

Let's sit here, till the gold dust, the passing sun extravagantly sprinkles,
that tells stories of galaxies dying down and new ones taking birth-
finally settles, and the anesthetic of darkness gently descends.

Look! the hidden envious eyes of the night, from afar peep at us,
on the journey back, we'll fly beyond limits and vanquish the big dark.
Sabbathius Nov 2014
The birds have ceased to sing in morrow's eve
It is that time of year in which they leave
From hither they’re now gone to seek the warmth
Against the frigid winds advancing forth

The flying pilgrims search for sacred heat
Until they reach as much as they find fit
A thousand ***** were heard and off they went
To find a truer heat as they were meant

Their joyful chants no longer wake me up
As I enjoy my tasty coffee cup
No more do they provide a cheering mood
While feeding babes or searching for some food


*Pilgrimage on Wings by João Massada is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Kenshō Jul 2014
Let me tell you a story about a man who had a revelation:

When he woke that morning,
He could swear, it all seemed normal, and ever so.. boring.


He stood up from bed,
Wondered what he could instead
Of cleaning his body, teeth and much less his head.

He was a working man.
He swore he had a plan.
To one day, own a beautiful car and home, possibly some land.

You may say it's normal and safe to think that way.
I'd say, It definitely felt good when I got paid.
The high was nice and I would have stayed.

But evidently that's not how the game is played.
Either way, I've strayed.
Let me get back to the man and how he changed one day.

He would always wonder about different ways.
Possibly living freely and in the flowers he could graze.
To stand boldly in the warm summer rays.

But those thoughts crumbled as his job gave him so much praise.
One month, he even got a raise.
He was being ****** into these typical ways.

But he would feel empty and lonely when he would work all day.
Wondering, why am I doing this anyway?
I remember hearing our ancestors didn't live this way.

Getting paid to create devices that save time.
Heh, It sounds insane and you'd be right to think so.
The things these devices do to the atmosphere is clearly a crime.

And as science develops and we see more clearly.
I can clearly see, this getting worse yearly.
That's a message from the earth, signing off sincerely.

He felt so trapped in someone else's plan.
Like he was almost being scammed.
As if the human world was run by an elitist clan.

He tried to tell people.
They called him insane.
Pointed him in the direction of a white steeple
...it all sounded the same.

Ya know, we all here playing a certain game.
If you play out of role you simply get shamed.
This is when he realizes he has things he needs to reclaim.

He calmly walks away, no worries, the time is always now and it's here to stay.
I won't run after someone that won't listen to me anyway
I'll find who I can and I'll be on my way.

Searching through the crowded streets and after hour performances with empty seats.
He realized that he may not find what he needs.
In this city of always active speed.

Taking his boots to the gravel.
He takes the road never traveled.
His story continues to unravel.

He plops his *** down below a tree and begins to hum.
He felt so alive as he chewed on the delicious tree gum.
So happy to be far away from the city ****.

He had merely clothing to keep him warm.
No cozy, quiet dorm
Certainly no shelter from the storms.

At times he would wonder.
Why do I yearn for something yonder?
He could never answer, only continue to ponder.

He awoke the next day.
Oh boy did his stomach have something to say.
He was tired, weak and vulnerable to prey.

Being a nomad was hard work, you would be foolish to lie.
He was merely a man
Barely getting by.

On the brink of death but most certainly not failure.
He realized he would settle down somewhere familiar.
He needed meat and plants to grow.

Gathering seeds and herding animals he became a master of sorts.
These were big jobs. But he didn't want to resort,
To asking another human for support.

He had left those ways and would never go back.
It seemed so long ago, even the snow had devoured his tracks.
But he surely was struggling to get even a snack.

In all of his woe
He promised himself to go with the flow.
One day, he came across another human. He was bound to say "Hello!"

It was awkward at first and words didn't know what to say.
He almost strayed away
When the man asked him if he needed a place to stay.

Tears were apparent but silent that day.
Maybe this is going with the flow and following his own way.
He was trying to hide his gitty insides but it was plainly on display.

He couldn't believe the amount of kindness that man gave.
It was very, very brave
For him to offer such a thing to a man who hadn't shaved.

But this was different, you know, not the same.
He had a keen eye for seeing through shallow games.
Being helpful and honest was his only aim.

If there was a moment that full filled any hole.
Any moment in time that proved we had souls
It had to have been the moment of the crunching of the gifted butter roll.


His belly was full and he couldn't believe it.
In his mind he had to admit.
Such a very nice thing from a man of the city, but he made no comment.

He learned that we need each other. We were born that way.
And is always reminded this lesson on a hungry feast day.
This one was written a few years back. I hope you enjoy it today.

— The End —