Pilgrim Path

This blog is the work of a seeker and poet. Walking stick in hand, I head out into the world, not of the world, but in the world. My words and my friends carry me along and light the pilgrim path of spiritual journeys.

Monday, August 25, 2008


Burnt out mailbox at the corner,
reminder of our feeble words.
Crushed diaries litter sidewalks,
manna for dark and hungry birds.
Scraps of beauty die a thousand deaths
while ugliness rides in herds.
Darkness creeps, fitful tossing,
dreadful dreams, nascent hopes absurd.
When carried brightly on gentle breezes,
whispers of hope played by fingers curved.
There will be music despite everything.

(photos taken by and used with permission of
Christine Valters Paintner from www.abbeyofthearts.com )

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Anonymous Abbey of the Arts said...

Rich, what a marvelous poem! Very dense and packed with wonderful images, the rhyming scheme works beautifully too. I especially love "whispers of hope played by fingers curved" -- thanks so much for your contribution!

10:03 AM  
Blogger EmJayDee said...

That's the line that struck me too Rich. I found this poem very moving. Thanks.

7:58 AM  

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