Without faith I am nothing, an empty shell.
A shadowed chamber is very dismal and dank.
For only grace is the proper curtail.
The aroma of the receptacle has become briny and rank.

Salted with limestone, the future has no promise.
Flames are burning the soles of my feet, blisters the result.
All kinds of turmoil is the amiss.
The mind is being loaded for disposal on a catapult.

Without faith belief is never the find.
Only with this hope can the world succeed.
When there is an unsatisfied mind.
The soul openly weeps, its spores bleed.

Poet Dorothy poetry99@txol.net Copyrighted 2000