St. James, the bearer of trust unchanged;
Thomas the eternal doubter.
In my mind they seem the same,
Merely faith tied to a course.
I am in search of faith uncharted.

Something Dickensian,
Something Spinozian.
The intangible absurdity of existence;
With the absolutes of panentheism. 
No utiopia from Moore,
Or the beasts of Descartes.

I should at once, 
Ask what faith requires of me. 
What it asks of me,
Whether I can match the faith of even the smallest rocks. 
And that it not be by chance, that I race towards it.