Faith crisis poetry


  1. A hundred people near me, but I am all alone.
  2. A city full of houses, but I am without home.
  3. A sea of salty water, but I am just a leaf.
  4. A court of kings and rulers, but I am not a chief.
  5. A pile of coloured ribbons, but I’m a drabby grey.
  6. A kennel full of purebreds, but I’m a tossed out stray.
  7. A toolbox full of hammers, but I am just a screw.
  8. A room of cushioned sofas, but I’m a hardened pew.
  9. A canvas without brushes, a lock without a key,
  10. A match without a striker, a pod without its pea,
  11. A boat without a paddle, a shovel without snow,
  12. A plane without a pilot, an arrow without bow,
  13. A gun without a bullet, a train without a track,
  14.  A curtain without windows, a sink without a tap,
  15. A compass without needle, a candle without flame,
  16. A bosom without burning, and me without a name.

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By Kim Siever

I live in Lethbridge with my spouse and 4 of our 6 children. I’m a writer, focusing on political news, social issues, and the occasional poem. My politics are radically left.

I’m also dichotomally Mormon. And I’m a functional vegetarian: I have a blog post about that somewhere around here. My pronouns are he/him, and I’m queer.

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