four poems

 I.

Faith pours into my hands,

Runs through my fingers

I beg God to be real

But I cannot yet heal

Or make mountains move to other lands.

Faithfulness is of small things.

II.

I do not know what to do with my pride--

Beat it aside?

Lie,

bear false humility

as an unseen witness to its tyranny

over me?

Yet how can so much pride

Reside with so much insecurity?

III.

wreck my religion

over

and over again

until my hope is strong

enough to be eternal and

my faith is in You

alone. 

IV.

To be human is to repent:

Human

Humus

Humility.