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The journey is long and often tedious,
on this stretch of narrow road.
Weary feet worn down from miles and miles
of travel make for broken and blistered soles.
The company kept, when kept, is often joyous,
and humble lives make hopeful
the times when the sun sets and the clouds overhead
mock the desire to see the way in the moonlight.
Yet, I am not Sisyphus on his lonely hill,
condemned to eternally roll a boulder up and down.
Though I often shamefully offend the Divine,
there is a place on my knees to stop, repent, and rest.
And so forward I move, toward a destination we trod,
though the place is true, the city wonderful and the kingdom good,
it is the journey that is life, it is the making and molding
of children become heirs no more damned to slavery.