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I know this is faith in fiction, but I have grown a tad stale lately and could use some direction. Here's a poem I wrote.
[u]
[b]Pantoum[/b][/u]

If ever I wear the suit saved for weddings
I'd still be a goat. My father
taught me to shave. My mother to dance.
Cover my sins in silk

I'd still be a goat. My father
fixes my tie, tightens the Windsor knot --
cover my sins in silk,
so I may dress alone.

Fix my tie, tighten up the Windsor knot.
Another pew. I memorized the reading
so I may dress alone,
in the upper chamber where prayers rise like heat.

Another pew. I memorized today's reading,
a half-written psalm, fragmented faith,
in the upper chamber where prayers rise like heat.
My father left behind his missal, -- I read

a half-written psalm, fragmented faith,
I know there are questions I could ask.
My father left behind his missal. I read
whether I ask my questions or not

I'd still be a goat. My father
taught me to shave. My father to dance.
Cover my sins in silk
if I ever wear the suit saved for weddings.