Sunday, December 17, 2017

Loss


It’s leaving
Was wistful.
Noticed more
Gone, than in
The going.

Dogma dulled
As doubt’s
Inevitability
Eroded creedal
certainty

Prayers, first
Abbreviated,
Grew silent
Tired of
Echoing words

I do not
Grieve my loss
Gritted memories
Of a more
Gullible time

Yet still, some
Sunday evenings
In the silence
I hear those
Echoes of

Faith’s blind
Certainty, her
Blissful confidence
In the inclusion of
Being the called

Somewhere
On this journey
At some point
I lost my faith,
Yet,

I am not lost
For in the loosing
I have learnt,
To be content in
Uncertain doubt


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