Sometimes faith is going about your business
When all hell threatens to destroy.
It is the kind of trust
That knows and doesn't need re-assurance.
And the truth travels with you
In everything you do.
And every act, however menial
Becomes a prayer
Because you could be doubtfully pleading
For a thing you don't believe.
I wonder if this kind of faith
Is the last frontier.
I wonder if it is the final state
Of those who have traversed the trackless path,
That in the end, they rest in sacred knowing.
And all of their prayers are prayers of gratitude
For the truth of that which is,
And the truth of that which was,
And the truth of that which yet will be.