Beneath the moon’s pale silver gaze,
I tread a path through shadowed haze,
A wanderer bound by neither creed
Nor hearth, nor kin, nor rooted seed.
In Blake’s fire, the heavens burned,
A thousand suns, their secrets spurned,
Yet wisdom whispered from the flame:
“To seek the One, forsake the name.”
Through Steiner’s veils of cosmic light,
The stars witnessed my endless plight.
Each step reveals a truth concealed,
Each truth—a void, is unconcealed.
Oh, Rumi sang, “Beloved’s near,”
Yet I found no hand to steady my fear.
The tavern brims with souls in prayer,
But I drink alone in the dark, dank, heavy air.
In Sylvia’s mirror, the self is torn,
A soul reborn yet still forlorn.
Her words clawed wounds upon my skin,
A battle lost, a war within.
And Tolkien spoke of lands untrod,
Of fates entwined by a dark God.
But even Elven songs could not
Fill the void where silence wrought.
The road is mine, none may tread,
A path where ancient echoes bled.
For seeking truth, I bear the cost,
Belonging’s grace forever lost.
Yet in the lonely, endless quest,
I feel the hand of the divine rest.
Not in the congregation, nor holy shrine,
But in the whisper, “You are mine.”
So let the world call me estranged,
A pilgrim wandering, scattered, unarranged.
For I am neither here nor there—
A flame that flickers or dies in God’s prayer.
By Alex Koritz
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