The title poem from Steady, Pilgrim

Thursday, October 29, 2015 at 12:40PM
Peter Neary-Chaplin in Poems, creative spirituality, creative writing, men's spirituality, ministry of words, new poems, new poetry, new writers, new writing, power of words, spirituality, unsigned poets

Steady, pilgrim,
walk with grace.
The saint was wrong,
there is no race.
You make a road
for those behind
who know not
that your work is blind.

Each year a mile
from wilderness,
the path made straight,
the toil made less.

Each day a slab 
to smooth the track
for foot, for hoof,
for weary back.

Each hour a tree
to shade the head,
give fruit to quench,
make wine, be fed.

Each thought a sky,
unbounded space.
So, steady, pilgrim,
walk with grace
remembering
your unborn face.

 

Article originally appeared on freelance, free-range writing (http://www.ministryofwords.com/).