Young Catholic boy
Traditions and routines embedded
Prayers remembered, recited, and regurgitated
Going through the motions until old enough
To walk away
Strict rules learned growing up
Making it difficult to return
Without being a hypocrite
Questions arising with no logical answers
Not all was bad
There was comfort in routine
Music that was beautiful at times
Giant traditional cathedrals
Shrouded in history and mystery
Sunday family breakfasts
Midnight Christmas Eve mass
Saturated in songs of Noel
Somehow made those lyrics relevant
As my life enters the fall season
I contemplate faith
I see others that breathe it
Is it too late to find and rediscover?
Can skepticism ebb?
Could I give myself over without abandon?
Where does one begin?