Lesser Hope I Believe

-Lesser Hope I Believe-
by
Keaton Foster

Standing here, upon your mountain, a dirt hill made of somethings, and as always I am shouting, “God of fools, not I, why have you done nothing on my behalf? Why am I so alone within this skin, within these very bones?”

No reply will be coming. No answer will be given. Pointless are the very questions that stick, like a splinter within this heart and mind. I can’t let them go because, for me, faith is an idea that to be believed I need the very answers to all that I’m seeking. This, a twisted loop of suggestive dialect that few others dare speak. I’ll pay for questioning God, probably more than I already have. But any fear of such payment concerns me less and less.

This, my prison of understanding, is such a callous undertaking. Yet these hands are smooth, untouched. I have no scars of deeds done. Nothing to identify me as a culprit. But in fact, a culprit is what I am most of all. This skin, mine, furious from within. This mind, unconventional at all times. Thus, simple and true, lesser hope I believe.

I wish that this was not my way but any other way would betray the very core of all that I am. I am a man with no plan who has become enslaved to that which he was born. I was sentenced for life, convicted before any trial. Deemed impotent, thus regulated and subjected to hellish interpretations.

For every page of goodness, there are a hundred of darkness. Many times was I beaten black and blue with God’s good book, with its words, and with its weight. My father used to stand over me and scream, “Repent!” My mother used to stand aside and cry out, “Do what you must!” Stronger than most, I refused. And still do. I am unable to find a way. The pain has become more of a god to me than any other could ever be.

More perceptive than receptive, I see those lemmings; God knows of whom I speak. Such absolute whores, crucified by his very ways. A dangerous game played that I refuse to take any part of. As far as others are concerned, I leave everything to God and I always will. I don’t judge their devotion, only their true intentions. I won’t stop them, nor will I encourage them. Neutral in this storming sea I plan to always be.

Lesser hope I believe. It’s all that I know and all that I can count on. I won’t refuse if certainty is offered, but I know that it won’t be. Without answers, I know that I could never embrace what faith requires. I’m not sure if it’s because I have too little heart and mind, or too much heart and mind. I’m waking up, eyes widening, senses tingling. I feel everything in my bones. Wondering maybe it’s just that I have no soul. Maybe I have something else? What that could be, I just don’t know.

Standing upon your mountain, always am I shouting, “God of fools, not I. I have nothing else to say. Finished is my way. Lesser hope I believe. So much less that for me there will be no coming back from the depths to which I’ve gone. Show me, answer me, forgive me.”


Lesser Hope I Believe
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2015.