The Paths that Meet Again
As I walked along the paths
he had laid, my footsteps where he trod,
I saw a child in tune, who
learned and spoke the sacred word of God.
From Bethlehem to Egypt,
through the Holy Land, each day within his stride,
To Jerusalem at
last—Golgotha, the skull—where, persecuted, he was crucified.
From strength to strength, I
watched, and read how wisdom came to grow,
I listened to the word;
rewritten through the centuries that we know.
My mind stepped back and
forth through time, my thoughts by years torn apart,
Yet felt a wonderous well of quiet strength, a love ascending within my heart.
I sensed the gentle hand of
God, that flowed where many dare not go,
While others lived in
fractured worlds, in madness I could never know.
Yet in that hush between the
noise, a deeper truth began to grow,
A whispered path beneath the
chaos, only willing hearts would know.
I passed through whispered
temples, where incense curled in silent air,
In mosques bowed heads
touched the earth in humble, fervent prayer.
Through synagogues of
ancient song, where old covenant voices rise,
And eastern paths of
stillness, where truth is sought with inward eyes.
I heard the mantras softly
breathed beneath the turning of the wheel,
Saw silent monks in saffron robes, where suffering learns to kneel.
In desert sands to mountain
shrines, through every tongue a sacred sound,
The search for truth
remained the same—
I saw a familiar light,
through fractured glass, that burned just the same,
Where earnest pledges were declared,
to the sacred echoes of a holy name.
Such reverence in meditation,
and prayer, each faithful following devout,
Spiritually cleansing their
mortal souls, as they drove the evil spirits out.
I passed by men in
gathering, hands bound by their communal sin,
In hypocrisy they followed
stone words, echoing on hollow walls within.
Tightly entwined, bound by
ancient voices speaking prophecies of old,
Men tethered fast in heavy
chains to pillars dressed in plundered gold.
Saints carved in wood and
stone, eyes cast down in silent contemplation,
While men would sin, then
kneel again, repenting for eternal salvation.
They venerated their crafted
relics, etched with runes of ancient lore,
And hummed their solemn,
sacred chants as done for years before.
Their followers’ eyes glazed
over, held in some eternal blinding plight,
Their souls adrift between
the shadows, wavering between dark and light.
I heard them preach of death
to those of other faiths who also pray,
Their vision fixed on
conquest, to erase all those who stood in their way.
I felt the venom in their
hearts, the righteousness they claimed as right,
As persecution cloaked
itself in the robes of virtue, veiled in its light.
On every side, discordant extremity
grew—hatred feeding on its own,
Reason bent and twisted thin;
compassion crushed beneath the stone.
They preached of vengeance,
purging mercy from the chambers of the soul,
And walked down roads of
darkness, broken and scarred with every toll.
Blind to the light within
their reach, yet claiming righteous sight,
They traded grace for bitter
crowns and called their blindness light.
Yet through it all I sensed
ahead a marker set beyond the pain,
A moment carved in ancient
thought where all the paths would meet again.
So, I looked beyond the wars
of men, beyond the blood, the endless cries,
Toward a place where peace
might dwell beneath more understanding skies.
From where the roads of man
once split and wandered far, divided, torn,
To where they meet again in unity,
and something new in us is born.
Where madness loosens from
its grip upon the kingdoms of the earth,
And man's humanity rediscovers
compassion’s quiet, sacred worth.
Not one return in flesh
alone, nor crowned upon a throne above,
But in the steps of
humankind—reborn through empathy and love.
In the second coming, not of
one, but found in all humanity:
The sons and daughters risen
together, in truth, in peace, in unity.
Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (April 2026)
