faith

A lost piece, one the poet had composed for a friend's poetry site, then forgot about for years until he tripped over it a year or two ago. The danger of having such a vast catalog!

faith

what right do we have to know about
love
to show a new love
to shove the limits of our souls
when we are busy in a swirl of self-imposed tepidity,
seeking only fires to light, not to heat and certainly

not to burn.
not to earn
a smile from a creator
so loving and yet so disappointed
that we hide so readily,
lie so steadily,
die so easily
in the name of causes He doesn't recognize.
remember the dawn.

before you saw the first one
you did not know the colours there
the eruption of fire
that split the night
that brought the bright sun
back from last night's loss.

will I cross the Rubicon
for another yawn?
hardly.
I don't have to imagine myself
the center of the universe.
the curse of sentience
is to see.

not just imagine,
not just buy the book
but live the life.
trading in the knife for a spade.
ending the charades
of self-aggrandizing platitudes
attitudes we cop
to stop hemorrhaging
our spirituality
to hide the scars
that any lover would kiss
in recognition of all we are.

I don't want something just because it works.
but because it is true.
and the only time the truth sets us free
is when we accept it.
unafraid.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.