blistered

pilgrimage

 

 

deaf

i am

the ocean

surrounds my brain

i am but food

for fish

 

 

this bed

this lump of aged mattress

holds no memories

the yesteryears of

adventure

have long past away

 

 

these eyes

see and desire

but the real watcher resists

i may be hungry

but i could never feel full

 

 

the noble pilgrimage

is the one

where pilgrims back

is broken

– by loving though not loved

– by carrying the sorrows of others

bringing them

like diamonds from a quarry

up to god

with blistered feet