<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Doubt<\/strong><\/p>\n He dreams of a church under water He is the breath and he is the wound. He prays for deliverance <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Simon Lewis<\/strong> has been writing poetry for about 15 years, although most of his efforts have never seen the light of day. He has however had poems published in Acumen, Orbis, Iron, Friction Magazin<\/em>e and Still<\/em>. There is hope yet.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Doubt He dreams of a church under water where green light ripples along the walls, the altar speckled with fish. Behind him the cavernous dark, the crouching men, teeth bared, the spear flung, now poised in mid-air. He is the breath and he is the wound. He has doubted and believed, his […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7497","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7497","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7497"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7497\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7499,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7497\/revisions\/7499"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7497"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7497"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7497"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nwhere green light ripples along the walls,
\nthe altar speckled with fish.
\nBehind him the cavernous dark,
\nthe crouching men, teeth bared,
\nthe spear flung, now poised in mid-air.<\/p>\n
\nHe has doubted and believed,
\nhis brother\u2019s voice worn thin over time:
\n\u201cThomas, why you of all men?\u201d
\nBecause we ran in the hills, he thinks,
\nbecause we played in the dust.<\/p>\n
\nfrom the Indian sun,
\nborne by the tide of his blood
\naway beneath a perfect sky
\nand all his works seem to him now
\nto be like the waves of the sea.<\/p>\n