By Faith

Strange stuff, faith;
elusive, too.
Across the millennia
we mortals have tried to quantify it
and make it into some sort of device
by which we claim the almighty’s attention.
Then, as if we have a particular right
by virtue of some contractual arrangement,
we use it to force the divinity’s hand
so that he, (historically speaking,
it tends to be a ‘he’), our captive deity
will give us what we require of him.
Thus by faith we pray
earnest letters of request to our santa god,
hang our eager stockings
and wait for them to be filled.

No, that’s not fair; I’m being overly cynical
and I apologise. By faith we see
through closed and prayerful eyes,
and with eyelids opened we peer
beyond earth’s dust; to behold
a tantalising vision of all that could be.
All that is good, and full of virtue,
all that is possible, and full of hope.
This shall come to pass, should enough people
truly trust themselves to the ungraspable
spirit-wind’s unknowable future.
With this faith they whisper their request:
your will be done, and enter into that rare place
where neither life nor death matters;
and where grace is the truest hope,
and all that is possible is love.

© 2010 Ken Rookes

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