Faith

Excessive dwelling on the why.
Losing initiative thereby.

Entertaining such a query,
Has rendered me long and dreary. . .

Losing will but not the grace.
This is the tale that I now face.

Will the grace pull me through?
Without the want, without ado?

And what of this pithy tale?
The passing flavor and detail.

Why must it spin a tale untrue?
A failure in attending to,

The drilling down to the start.
But for distractions of a heart.

So I do move, and I will sway.
I’ll let the winds have their way.

I will bend, and I will break.
I will be true for truth’s sake. . .

I do not know what is true.
I do not know what to do.

Following a trail of truth,
Renders me long in the tooth.

When the truth is but a fiction,
That I held with such conviction,

That turned out to be so wrong.
It’s been this way for so long.

Would now vary all that much?
I still believe in truth and such.

Why would I now be more clear?
Why would my heart not interfere?

The truth is that my heart would,
As prompted by my personhood.

The truth is that I do not know,
What is real, how it will go.

The truth is that I’m in the dark.
And truth is but a fleeting mark.

The whole thing has me wondering.
About a life of blundering. . .

Wonder is a funny thing.
Caring not what truth might bring.

Setting a self to receive.
To worry not, but to believe.