Believing

   I want to ask you sometime,

about when they feed you your faith,

and you swallow it,

does it glide down nice and easy?

or does your stomach gurgle,

ache a little,

as if you have just digested something

not quite right, as if they'd fed you

something you can't quite trust?



I apologize, already, my friend,

for this sarcasm that seeps out of

the context of my mind onto the

whiteness of this page.

It's just, I do not understand you,

I do not understand what it would be like



to wake up into darkness of 2:30 a.m.

with doubt shuffling around in my mind,

and be able to cling to a white night-light of answers.

Because I have come to like my late-night journeys

into the black alleys of not-knowing,

have come to enjoy the cool

granite of questions beneath my

bare feet.



Sometimes, I would like to hold your faith in

the palm of my hand,

just to know what its presence would feel

like in the pit of my stomach.

But I do not want it, for more

than a moment.

I'm sorry, but it looms like a prison before me,

and I take my freedom where

I can find it.