They taught me God was mercy's light,
Yet darkness clouds that sacred height:
What father sends his son to die?
What love demands such sacrifice?
The incense rises, candles burn,
While questions spiral, twist, and turn.
Each rosary bead, a doubt compressed,
Each prayer a whisper unexpressed.
The saints look down from chapel walls,
Their painted eyes watch as faith falls
Like autumn leaves that drift away,
Leaving branches stark and gray.
I've walked these aisles a thousand times,
Heard bells ring out their solemn chimes,
But in their echo, still I hear
The questions growing year by year.
Perhaps some truths aren't meant to know,
Like why a father let him go,
Or why we build our hopes so high
On answers written in the sky.
Yet still I sit in empty naves,
Where shadows dance like restless waves,
And wonder if these doubts I hold
Might be worth more than faith of old.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: March 10th, 2025 09:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
Offline)
Comments1
This a poem of faith or lack there of. Questions unanswered the issue of how do you worship someone that violates expectations and values. (The saints look down from chapel walls, Their painted eyes watch as faith falls) Great images that tell a story. The next lines (Like autumn leaves that drift away,
Leaving branches stark and gray.) give the image of faith falling and what is left behind. The last two lines are the sum of all. Is it worth more to have doubt than faith? Maybe if it leaves one less vulnerable and wiser. Good write
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