Scott Simpson · Poetry

Boundaries

Restoration Blues · source pages 6

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Source page 6

Boundaries

We knew the answers by heart—

our tribe’s script, rehearsed,

to defend against the heretics,

those who sat in pews not ours,

sang songs of different tempos.

We never moved at ease among them,

only sharpened our swords in the wings,

quoting chapter and verse with precision.

Proof was our faith's currency—

amassed in stacks, bets laid

on our own righteousness.

But the weight of it grew,

evidence piling like stones

a faith could be crushed beneath it.

We could not breathe,

pinned beneath our certainties,

terrified of a single flaw in the mortar.