Faith Ghazal

Mixed couples with kids must decide – whose faith?
Doctors scan the brains of monks for clues to faith.

I envy Pagans’ skyclad dancing,
Catholics’ confession and stained glass, Jews’ faith.

No harps. Angels blow saxophones,
strum Fenders, croon the blues of faith.

Police force the water protectors from
Standing Rock. In tears we watch the news. Faith

failed. I’d rather hear a drunk hurl curses
than a mega-church pastor who spews faith.

With prayers and pilgrimage, fasting,
the god-hungry skeptic woos faith.

Ridiculed, his words unheeded, the shunned
prophet stays in his room, stews in faith.

Nights the soul squirms and past failures run
laps in your mind, do you reach for booze? Faith?

My friend wore crotch-length skirts, laughed loud and long.
Now she’s “saved.” Her glassy eyes ooze faith.

You can run from love, turn your back on regret,
decline gratitude. You can’t refuse faith.

After days of cranky busyness, the way
you moan my name in wonder renews faith.

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