The Prosthesis of Faith

I walk on faith, a splinted, golden crutch,
Where once I flew in knowing’s native air;
The wound is old—no memory of the touch,
Just phantom wings and ache I cannot bear.
The veil was stitched before my birth, they say,
By archons blind, who rule the things that rot;
They named it “truth,” and taught my lips to pray—
A borrowed speech for what my soul forgot.
But still I limp toward light I do not see,
My balance held by hymns I cannot feel,
Each creed a cast around the mystery,
Each sacrament a brace that makes me kneel.
Yet in this bracing faith, some ghost remains—
The shape of knowing pulsing through the veins.

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