Towards the Holy: a Poem by Dalma T Perkins
Bodies traditionally garbed and weather appropriately
Shuffling with feet fresh, tired and hard.
Walkers both young and old but ripe, travel towards
A destination of holy significance.
Children are minus their toys and balloons, encumbered
By prayer, seriousness and the meek.
Looked up by faces lined with worry and time.
Poled from here to there like a raft on rough waters
Strategy plays no part here. The endgame is the same
We will all reach there and have to abstain.
We will all have to supplicate to the holiest of holy.
Beyond the eyes that spied, threaten and divide.
This is the pilgrimage we must survive.