#71: You Mean . . . That's It? (Faith)

You Call Yourself Religious,
Your Faith Is Quite Prodigious,
Your Soulfulness, Fastigious . . .
And Held In Heaven's Banks.
But Will You Be Incredulous,
And Perhaps A Mite Lugubrious,
To Find That All Is Fatuous
Beyond Truly Honest Thanks?

A beaded curtain 'twas all that stood
to separate the room,
as we were led into the light,
and out of murky gloom.

As grand a room as e'er we'd seen . . .
an open field, enclosed,
over which the voices of
a thousand choirs rose.

People, along with every kind
of flora-fauna thing,
raised up voices, toward the sky,
as if one song to sing.

It was beautiful and angel-like,
and seemed to lift our hearts,
but the lyrics weren't real interesting . . .
two words in choral parts.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you . . ."
they bowed their heads to break.
But the beautiful sound was a miracle
for just two words to make.

It looked more like a Woodstock show,
with Johnny's One-Note Band
performing for all living things,
real boring, though real grand.

Then Jo turned to our vaporous guides,
and posed a question I
had also hoped for the answer to . . .
and simply, that is, "Why?"

Well, the answer did not startle us,
as we both thought it might,
but we certainly thought a room called "Faith"
would show us more, all right!

Jo-Mima's ghost then answered us,
"It's hard for you to know,
but Faith is really Piety . . .
your praising makes it grow."

We didn't step too far therein,
though we were surely sport.
And we were quickly guided out . . .
our time was growing short.

And that is how we found ourselves
beneath a blinding flash
that left us both some memory of
the deepest happiness.

My eyes began to focus back
to scenes that may have been
residual images of the flash . . .
back in the coffin den.

The four of us were standing there.
Our ghosts were fading out,
but took a parting moment to
describe what we're about.


{Spirit Stanzas}

"So, now you know that death's clichés
are pretty much all true.
It's nothing but a doorway that
all mortals will pass through.
And yes, as long as you're alive,
you are mortals too.

And it leads you to a spirit world
you enter when it's time.
Perhaps it's down a scary stair,
or up a wondrous climb . . .
but visiting, corporeally,
is only done in rhyme.

And, by the way, the notion that
a spirit might come back
into a seance parlor, or
some dimension's crack . . .
is even more the product of
a mindless mental quack . . .

though spirit and corporeal worlds
do, one time, interface,
and even then, but only for
the granting of His grace . . .
and that is through the place that you
are usually calling 'Faith.'

Though Faith be just a state of Grace . . .
a gift of some degree,
and only gained by him who might
be given it, you see,
it's measured by the level of
your sense of Piety.

You wonder if there is for you
that place to which you pray . . .
there is, of course, Salvation,
on which we cannot say
too much, except you only felt
a pinch of its foyer."