Faith

You draw from the heart that swells,

with peace in which the creature dwells,

that rancid delight of forced illusion –

a soulful tale with no conclusion.

You paint contentment, numb and blind.

Deaf to all that does not remind

you of what you sent in stone,

in a void you choose to call your own.

You need and therefore it is.

You tremble and so you hide in bliss.

That is why your wrist keeps throbbing.

It is why you ever stop sobbing.

A shield you made. A sword you named.

A kindness meant to be blamed.

A force to heat and a force to ignite –

to birth the mother of rage and spite.

The justice in mercy and love.

The wings of a dead white dove.

The reason to have any purpose at all.

A reason to never fear the fall.

Such is the rapture of a shadow too bright.

Before the sun – it's the womb of light.

The deceitful cure for the mortal state,

yet known simply by the name 'Faith'