Holy Land

Holy Land

In all our journey, pilgrimage, crusade
It is our self we seek,
Our self we flee.

Our quest of an exotic land
Becomes the home we’ve made,
So ordinary.

Our miracles of loaves and fish
Become a common Spring;
Our whim and wish,
Ennui.

Our oars and oracles
Upon our shoulders,
Far from any sea,
Strangers we stand,
Beggars at a banquet without Host,
The motley suitors toast,
Our Odyssey.

(written Friday, 1:30pm, 1-12-2001)

Advertisements

Tags: poem, Poetry