One day I will put on my walking shoes.
Maybe the house will burn down
or I'll be tossed out into the street;
maybe it will be wanderlust,
cabin fever, the mortgage foreclosed.
I'll become a fugitive, a seeker then -
that lengthy, arduous journey
becoming my life and what will be left of me?
Nothing more towards the end
than my walking shoes, the next step,
one foot wearily in front of the other,
bearing my soul towards the threshold
where sanctity dictates, of course,
the removal of those smelly, heavy, broken,
worn and dusty, sweat-stained,
my spirit unshod and laved to freely enter
the holy immaculate house of God.
O child of God, Moses was plainly told -
no man sees My face and lives.