Grant Me a Superficial Faith
(A Shakespearian Sonnet)
Is faith we own a stain on ‘faith more real,’
or tattoo burned on skin that’s in life’s game?
Our faith stands up (when waves are not genteel)
or lives on land (where tests are likely tame)?
Does God look down and think our faith’s divine
or each man’s faith judged, works are not enough?
It seems obtuse to dream our soul is fine,
that Jesus’ blood suffices! Grace through snuff!
Let me trust God’s provisions for my soul,
no life gets wrecked eschewing pride’s device.
Does faith say glue and Scotch tape make me whole?
My eyes search for what’s right; ears His advice.
Is Grace the key? Christ saves though I’m a jerk?
Or that’s too easy? Heaven needs more work!
Long Tooth
July 22nd in 2020
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