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Faith in a Secular Age- A Poem

My faith, delicate as spun glass,

Intertwined and enfleshed with doubt.

Hope, the quiet confidence in things unseen,

Is woven into the sea of physicality,

Despair, and fragility.

I stumble onward,

East of Eden,

An enchanted soul, drifting.

The anchor, tethering my heart,

Drifts in secular and disenchanted tides.

A homesick exile.

In the bustling marketplace of ideas,

I have chosen or stumbled upon,

A foundation that, in tandem,

Supports a dogmatic structure,

Yet bears a weight it seems unable to hold.

Amidst my doubts,

I cannot escape,

For even in the depths, He is present.

Within my despair,

I cannot hide,

As on the farthest shores, He is there.

He whispers,

His tones hushed, almost inaudible.

I catch a fleeting glimpse,

The elusive presence.

Reason cannot hold Him,

But sometimes,

In the mystery,

In sacred scripture,

In bread and wine,

In community,

In the silence of solitude.

We find Him,

Or does He find us?

Swales, 2024


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