Via Podiensis Poem by David C Probst

Step by step I climb the steep ascent,
Panting, sweating, longing for some rest.
Feet that hurt and eyes that scrutinize
Every inch of stone I tread across.

Pilgrims' traces grace the worn-out path:
Crumbling cairns rebuilt continuously,
Names and crosses carved in dateless beams -
Hopeful messages addressed to God.

Who am I to walk so carelessly,
Gracelessly along this sacred path?
Where's my faith, my awe, my humbleness?
What has made me so insensible?

Crucifixes are religious art,
Shells but lovely souvenirs to me.
Pious scribblings are but bad graffiti -
Artless signs of passage done in haste.

Mother Mary is no use to me -
Virgin blood runs through my daughters' veins.
Life can be a burden in itself -
What can Eve or Adam add to this?

Grateful am I, not deceived by tales,
Thankful to be healthy and alive.
Sweat and pain are part of every life,
Joy and hope need no religious bait.

Drained but glad I reach the mountain's top,
Look around and quench my worldly thirst.
Awestruck I take in the splendid view
Jesus left unnoticed to my right.