“Faith Is Free”
Faith is free, of course, a property of all alike, the bailiwick
Of the interrogative with as many illusions guaranteed
As can be found in Stations of the Cross, the clock, or compass in degrees.
Memories are given domicile in a wilderness of thought transfixed
And sanctuary in subtlety and commonality. This much
Is certain. What we expect to endure is exploited, full blown
Through reticence acquiring rule in habits as home-grown
As planters’ warts, or crabgrass, mental errors in such
Enigmatic rude profusion that in time, although forewarned,
That fearsome self-inflicted rage from which only fools recover
Or escape–and even so as if by accident–cannot discover
The disease in time to flee where the Philistine attacks in swarms.
Questions, then, provide the yeast of faith and yet another queue for treason;
Answers, delusions, if caught in time; but certitude, eternal cure in any season.