End of Days
Bent and broken, the old woman limps inside the chapel,
Through dusty corridors and spider laced archways.
The once immaculate walls of this place of worship
Have long yielded to the howling wind and purring rain.
The colored-glass widows are cracked and broken
Sheltering the nests of sparrows and sea gulls,
Housing the humble mice and the lizards of the cliffs.
Nature reclaims what once was Hers,
Demanding with roots, fangs and feathers
The outposts the Christian God has taken.
From the dusty road of the East comes a shadow.
The old woman shades her eyes with a trembling hand
To have a better look at the unexpected guest.
Rugged and leaning on a long wooden staff comes a pilgrim.
He sits on the old wooden bench, pausing his journey.
Bread and Water, all she can spare she does with her heart.
Water from the spring hidden among the rough cliff slopes
A haven of laughing water above the roaring sea,
A gift so rare among the harsh dominance of salt,
Valued and cherished, the blood of a barren land.
Bread and Water. Crumbles made of humble seeds,
Seeds that dared grow under the scorching sun,
Thirsting for water, they thrived in sweat and tears,
Battling with the elements over a piece of fertile land.
Bread and Water. If it were gold, it wouldn't be as valued.
Fed and watered, he shares a moment with the crone,
Sharing the silence of the summer twilight.
The silence of the howling wind above a raging sea,
The silence of the sea gull that bids the day goodbye.
Then the silence is no more when she asks the question:
"Where has your road traveled you? What have you been seeking?"
"I left my homeland lifetimes ago", replies the pilgrim.
"Led by a fire in my head, I searched the World for God".
"Have you found Him? Have you seen His Face?
Tell me, did you find him in Damascus or the streets of Antioch?
Have you seen His face in the distant temples of the East,
Or heard His Name in the desert Mosques at sundusk?
Have you felt His hand in the crypts of Jerusalem
Or seen His footprints on the mountainside of Olympus?
Have you felt His breath among the standing stones of Celts
Or heard His voice inside the Vatican shrines?"
The dust dances around them, making his eyes water.
Was it the dust, was it the wind or was it his heart?
"I found no God in the places you talk of.
I found greed and arrogance, loathing and despair.
I called His name but took no answer but the wind.
I searched for His face, but saw only the night.
I reached for His hand and I found bones and ashes.
I followed His footprints, and I was led in bloodshed.
And, behold, among the blood and ruins stands my God.
His name has been the cry of the dead on the minefields,
His breath the smoke and ashes of the falling fire.
His face the face of the children of war
His eyes the eyes of the black clad women.
Children of Kosovo, women of Baghdad,
These are my God and my Master.
God has no eyes but has tears of Blood,
He has no hands but fingers of feathers
Caressing the corpses in ravens' form.
Behold, my Lord, I've seen your death and your torment.
I'd die with you, if I were a stronger man".
The pilgrim stood and took the long way home,
Where the angels cry and the demons tremble.
The old woman watched him as he vanished in the night,
Motionless, silent, as an old oak tree.
As darkness fell, she no longer was a woman
But a tree, strong and solid with roots running deep.
The midnight wind caressed its leaves as it whispered.
"I know you, but you have lost my name.
I was here when time was young
I have seen you creep and crawl East of Eden
And I'll be here after you've gone.
For I am Death and Life. I am the Earth
And I will be here to give birth to another cycle".
The tree stood silent and spoke no more.
The night creatures took refuge in its shadow,
For they still know its hidden Face and secret Name,
The many names of the One who is Nameless,
The many faces of the One who has none:
The Serpent, the Lamb and the Tree of Life.