Why can't I get behind
the comfort the relief
of unexamined faith
of purely blind belief
my brainy version's
never going to catch on
ever present doubts
scabs for the mind
to scratch on
Whatever could qualify
as a real turning point
Some twisting in my heart
Some pressure in my joint
Some outside circumstance
in secret what I pine for
wishing to believe in purpose
if faith for what mine's for
what
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