To doubt no quarter should ever be given,
that pebble in the shoe; worm in the apple,
beam in the accuser’s eye. On one seesaw’s end,
the fundamentalist tends its grave,
while beyond the pales, the inquisitor goes
to great length to rid himself of its stench,
to soothe if not to quench its constant roil and prickle.
It’s not speculation so much the enemy
as its disreputable companion uncertainty;
tamping down the dirt, pretending it doesn’t breathe
or squandering valuable prayer time doing battle,
the strategy and research to chase it
from our well-ordered lives. For how can we lovers,
the great faithful ones look ourselves in the glass
if we find not there conviction?
O child of God, queries and uncertainty are quirt
and spurs to propel you toward the goal.