One foot strides in front of the other,
The path is across worn un-mortared stones,
The ages tug at the soles of the feet,
Stains of conflict and change in the stones.
The whisper of the sandal shod feet breaths,
“Do not hurry, the temple has waited forever,”
There is a rush of exhilaration, a sensual need,
The very thought can stop the heart, this forever.
An ancient part of the soul reaches forward,
Its clasp tempered by the passing millennium,
Some will not reach the sacred grounds,
Others will prostrate as done for past millennium.
The question is asked: “And what will it gain,”
The answer not of the stone or perceived spirituality,
No book, no shaman, no priest, can explain it,
Gained is what is carry in peace to our own spirituality.