Pilgrimage

It's a pilgrimage

of sorts

of religious significance

sure

if you're into that sort of thing

candles and church bells

and proximity to the spire

that points up at that grey eye,

the sky.

I am called

by no voice

but by a longing

passed down by blood

inherited

along with a handful of other things

some more tangible than

tacit.

I have lapsed

sinned

strayed

prodigal,

probably in both senses

correct and mistaken.

What has taken me so long?

This cradle

that holds the living

and the dead

and the past

and the future

and the promises

delivered silently across oceans.

I cannot pray

only sway

to the rhythm of this rocking cradle

in time with synchronised

heart beats

their echo

strong.

It's been too long.