Three Days From Jerusalem

I
Three Days from Jerusalem
But here I will stay forever
Watching the pilgrims and angels pass
On their way to the halls of David
But here I sit, under the tree,
This Cyprus tree, and find
That all men walk this dawning globe
Though some walk far behind
But none of them will stay with me
Not one Samaritan takes my hospitality
And so I watch alone

II
When nightfall kills the shade of the tree
My thoughts walk down the road
A city they find, shining with light
A thousand or more candles ablaze
On the highest mount, the beacon shines
And the searchers flock through the gates
All around the hills abound, the pilgrims
Starring to the city of lights
Guided, they stumble through the dusty roads
Keeping always the beacon in their sights
And reaching the wall, they marvel in wonder
At the others who marvel there too
The lights call forth, and the pilgrims sing
For the angels have shown them the way home.
But where I stand, no light but the stars
Reaches my hand; I am three days
From Jerusalem. But I know where to find it.

III
When I was young, or so it seemed,
I chanced to find a sparrow
Curling tight her tiny winds, I saw
She was in sorrow. And so I said
Dear little bird, where is the air under your wings?
Why so sad and lonely? why this morning silence?
She could not answer me, but I saw
Her leg was trapped in a branch
So I freed that life
I felt that tiny warmth in my hand
And I threw her to the wind
The wild and lonely wind
She caught that wind beneath her wings
And soared up to the morning sun
But blinded by that light, I looked away
And when I returned, she was gone.

IV
They say there is a man who waits
On the banks of the broad river Styx
In fear of Cerberus, of Charon, of the water
He jealously guards his own mortality
And shuns the wanderers on their way to Hades
He does not know he is dead

V
Four moons ago, a pilgrim I saw
On the road from Babylon
A seer he might have been
A wise, a brave man, curious and true
Though his face was old and his spirit young
I saw in him something of you.
And that is why, of all these pilgrims
For him I answered his questions.
I told him I sit by this tree on the road to Damascus
Forever, three days from Jerusalem.
And I told him I waited because the angels had hurt me
Because I had been with black truths lied too, with strong sticks beaten and with bright fires blinded
Because I hate the human soul and am weary of human voices
Because truth lies not in the light but in the dirt from which it is grown
Because the Lord can find me here if he loves me
Because these legs will carry me no further
And in short, because I am afraid.

VI
I have heard the harps of angels play
As they make their way to the city
I do not think they will not sing to me.

A missionagly long, religious themed poem for Christmas Eve