The Procession Poem by Iain Mackay

Through early-morning mists, the pilgrim train
Trudges two-by-two beside the ancient stream
That quietly flows across the land,
Sanctified by time.

Fiery torches held aloft
To burn back the blackness of the night,
They make their way, walk-weary,
Towards the sacred woodland
Where trees stand tall, straight as cathedral columns
Stretching their canopies across,
Like colossal arches overhead.

So does the pious procession enter the darkened woods,
Which moonlight shuns, where night creatures flit above;
And through the darkness, soft murmurs spread
Throughout the silent forest.
Devotees now sing hymns of praise -
As strength and faith and hope revive,
While filaments of faint light find the path
And reveal their destination:
An altar in the aura of Dawn‘s triumphant glow.

Thus the wanderers’ chorus, once hushed and gentle
Rises now to meet the glory of the sun,
As golden warmth spreads throughout His whole domain,
Throwing yellow sunbeams straight towards the heavens,
Like brazen spears thrust through the blood-red sky.


You might like to watch this after you have read the poem... or even while you are reading it -

www.youtube.com/watch? v=mPn3JV3GHRE

(Make sure there are no spaces anywhere in the address. I notice one tends to appear between the? and the v no matter how many times I re-enter it here.)