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a poem

I thought I'd share some free-verse I wrote a year ago, at near the beginning of walking away from my faith:




Doubt

playing jars of clay on the way home to see if
there is anything left inside,
a scrap
i can still call Christian
ready to capture in my gentle hands the scurrying
scared fluffball, bring it up to my chest
just under my chin, to let it know
it's safe
but i have no such assurance, bless'ed or otherwise
not anymore
too many disappointments, dashed dreams, nagging doubts
peeps come to me for help and i
am reluctant to give it
what if i lead them astray? what if they end up in
what...hell? the only hell i know is the one created by the
scholarly ones, the ministers who profess their love
with their ample dose of
"love the sinner, hate the sin"
in their view, a charitable phrase
they read the bible every day, you see, hardly miss
a sunday at church
they speak to this god of love and he speaks to them
this god whose love is apparently so
conditional
so how can any of us truly KNOW what we know?
is our faith in the biblical authors of old a little greater
than in modern day charlitains who are still among us
and still proclaim their visions?
'God told me to run for president'
'the gays are to blame for the flood' the tornado, the increase in autism
should we give one of them a golden pen with which to write
the very mind of god for the faithful to read
a millennia or two from now?

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exchristians
Former Christians

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