Pilgrims Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

The shrine becomes folly and pain
Romance blocks the sun
Now moonlight seems to grow old
What we wished for is oblique

Those angel gates so far away
Fantasy is a weak arrow
We must choose the trodden path
Time must transform and idols die

My desire has burned in the rain
Fire smoldering
Spirituality seems so ordinary
Yet it is the path of ages

Your beauty is still there
Your tremulous thirst
Please! We must follow
We must be pilgrims