Gritty Faith

for slobs like me

Gritty Faith

I need simple now,
too battle-scarred 
for platitudes
or the complex clauses
of mystical musings
in small print.

My eyes are sore,
the light is dull;
weary old men like me
shudder at depictions
of heroism.

I don’t fit in
with pious veiled maidens
or muscular youths
sexless and sober,
sure they’ve found
the only right way.

I thought that way too
way back then, when
I’d deceive myself,
so sure that nothing
would ever unsettle
my righteousness.

Speak to me no longer
of heroic virtue.
No, instead,
link me with the leper’s
desperate pleading.

Yes! That makes more sense
right now
than lofty theology.

BG: 06.24.26