Ash and dust. The pilgrim’s road.
They brought their grief. Their heavy load.
Their vows once lit the sacred flame,
now smoke remains. But not his name.
The echoes fade. The altar’s bare.
Their god is chained. But no one’s there.
When silence wept, they sought his grace,
with broken hearts, with borrowed faith.
They spoke in tongues they never learned,
and lit cold wicks that never burned.
She held her hands on ember’s glow,
for heat, not love. For need, not soul.
He took them in. He asked no why.
He bore their grief. He let them cry.
No vow was asked. No blessings sworn.
He caught their fall. He took their scorn.
And when they healed, they left his throne.
He held their ghosts… and turned to stone.
—
The temple groaned beneath the snow.
Its breath was still. It let him go.
Ivy climbed where voices sang,
then curled in ash where silence rang.
The pilgrims’ path grew white and blind,
no foot, no flame, no holy sign.
Then echoes stirred along the trail,
through drifting snow and hollow wail.
He felt their steps, their pleading song,
the ache that begged he right their wrong.
The wind returned a voice he knew,
a sound of love, made sharp and true.
They call his name through falling years,
their tone still sweet, but lined with tears.
But gods grow tired of love’s disguise,
of hands that touch with hearts that lie.
The faith he yearned no longer grips,
just hungered cries from empty lips.
He gave them words they never kept.
He kissed her brow while others slept.
He watched them climb what he forgave,
then carve new gods from softer graves.
And in the hush they left behind,
he learned the shape of humankind.
—
He held the torch beyond the door,
and shattered stones the pilgrims wore.
He rose in fire, in ash and rain,
and burned the house that bore his name.
When the last red ember dawned,
he whispered low, “Your god is gone.”
The snow returned. The ash was wide.
No god to love. No place to hide.
For he’d gone still. He killed the flame.
He answers now to no one’s name.
She had his arms, his blood, his sky,
but love must rest, and gods must die.
Featured image adapted from a photo by Stephen Radford
See more on Unsplash: @steve228uk
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