Miles Away (Poetry)

I’ve a pocketful of pebbles
and my shoes are made of lead
I am sobbing to the angels
I am talking with the dead

I am contemplating mountains
I am climbing up though snow
to a temple on some plateau
where I worshipped long ago

The moon-god gathers secrets
with her milky hollow eye
she insists I have been chosen
but she will not tell me why

And the stones are weighing heavy
every bone is aching sore
I am blind to where I’m going —
no direction any more

I feel weak and oh so weary
I am human after all
and I’ll die like any other
when the Reaper comes to call

In the meantime I’ll keep plodding
half in hope and half in fear
that come the Day of Judgement
I’ll be miles away from here