The Parting

This is not a blasphemous poem. Any offence caused - I sincerely apologise.

The Parting of the Ways

Nineteen hundred and ninety-nine miles from the monte mihrab,
Each and every milestone careful-carved with hope,
They hope to see their spiritual city in the heat.
A drab caravan driving a road through the desert's dunes,
Heavy-hoofed and heavy-footed, and the lookouts
Try to spy the needle tower in this hot haystack -
Short of food and cold in nighttime's hopeless dark,
Is there a real road to follow back, if the worst should come?
They stop and pause for thought. Leader Jacob stands.
Leader Jacob mounts the makeshift mimbar in the midst of women and of men.
Leader Jacob speaks:
?'My people, we are close. The gates of the city stand not one mile hence.
Look east beyond the fire to the dark.
You must come with me to this holy place of destiny.'
Thus, Leader Jacob spoke like a spouting geyser - regular as days.
And the two thousandth milestone was planted next day.
But the same plain yellow sand sat staring at them through the haze.

Anger gripped the gasping pilgrims, twisting like a snake.
Joseph and young Jesus, Margaret and George, rose from the front and spat in unison,
?'You knew, you knew, wicked Jacob, son of Kevin and of Clare.
There is no Mecca in the mica, two thousand miles from there!'
And there and then, all stirred as one, heads tilted to the sky,
?'We beseech thee, God of gods, to thee we send our praise.
Forgive us for our foolishness. Is it here we end our days?'
Nameless faces turned away and knew what must be done.
They broke apart and drifted off in loneliness.
And at that last stone, two thousand miles from anywhere
Came the parting of the ways.