Still the Road Carries Us On

The word came down from distant stone, from voices far from dust and

road. A count was called, a path was named,

and quiet faith began to move. He tied his pack with steady hands,

counted bread, then counted breath. Each step an act of patient trust,

each mile a vow not yet confessed. Still the road carried them on,

still the road carried them on. Above the path a quiet light, not close enough

to lead his feet, just bright enough to set his course

and keep his heart from turning back. No room prepared, no welcome sign,