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Poem

Faith is a cat, treading softly,
with delicacy, with hesitation,
unlike the dog-like dogma
(so aptly named) which seeks
to hold fast a believer in its
proud, fierce and steel-like jaws.

Yes, faith is beyond reason--
how could it not be when the 
mystery is more than any mind
can seize and hold and eat....

And faith is a tease, a hope not
fully formed but heavy, unlike 
its correspondent, the soul, so
light no scale can weigh it, no 
meter can measure--but faith
sweats and breathes and lives
in fear of its own death like the 
fragile body and life it inhabits.

Faith can be mocked so easily
by those resolute like stone
whose hearts are sealed and 
walled against wonder, magic--
the magic of the world, of air
and sun and moonlight grace.
The deep, deep magic of two
who meet as strangers, then
meld into friends, then bind in
a power greater than death,
a power cloaked in mystery:
'Why do I love him?' and
'Why do I so long for her?'

This power, this mystery will
never be contained, either by 
time or place or memories--
it will transcend even eternity.

Thus faith is the child of love,
real love, love unbounded,
fierce, heedless, far beyond
its greeting card counterfeit.

Faith is found in the cracks,
when reason is overwhelmed
and hope seems near death--
then faith, never easy, never,
never truly simple-- then faith
will be tossed and turned and
sometimes die, but more often 
thrive as it makes the soul one.

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