What we know is never enough to prevent us
Wanting something more impossible to adore.
It’s not pretty when one faith sweeps away
A host of others, is it Emperor Julian?
No talking spring. The water that once spoke
Is heard no more. Peasants and indigenes take it
Hardest, hiding their worship at the old shrines
For generations after they’ve acquiesced,
Even after they’re no longer sure what worship
At the old shrines was for, even when old faith
Lingers only as the ghost known as folklore.
It will happen again, rest assured. The temples
Of the winners will be fought over, burned,
And ignored. The evidence is certain, is sure.
But faiths still go to battle daily, fiercely
Determined to win a final victory in the Name
Of some unnameable Lord. Not everyone picks
A particular side, of course. But the true faith,
The one, true faith, the faith above all faiths,
Is the faith that the true faith will be, must be,
Cannot but be eternally restored. Oh, Lord.
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