The depth of Faith

The spirit is the master of contradiction. And only the Spirit fathoms
Its operations. But my doubts are quarantined, for misery is the fruit
Of deep joy, and joy is the unction of scars. Thus, the sanctum is
Purified, notwithstanding the forest of thorns. But trials, the pith of
Existence, effaced by the touch of love. And my heart, it aches,
Alive in its trauma. Wherefore, I dance upon the galaxy of script,
Stumbling through fields of emotion; and my soul, athirst for
Anodyne. But faith winnows the affliction, and the affliction becomes
A nib of wisdom; whereby webs are untangled, and intellect is given
Birth. Thus, I die, my angst, my resurrection, afloat the realm of
Mortal fears. And my being, the catapult of dreams, colored by feverish
Screams. Wherefore, I’m lost in anthologies, attempting to decode
Scriptures; whereby I flit and glide, intoxicated, my soul, a manifest
Vision. Thus, I perish to live, and live to perish, the depth of my faith.