Faith

By Mir Foote

A poetry book in four seasons. Coupled with photography from Mir Foote's travels around the world, she explores the theme of faith. These poems exalt, question, play, and treasure what it means to be human. In the end, we cannot both know and believe.

'And when you ask the question 'why',
you’re standing for a fall,
but if you never ask the question,
then you have no faith at all.'

Have faith, and journey into the dance that is life, love, death, change, and beauty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mir Foote
• Release date: Sep 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310044755

Mir Foote

Mir Foote grew up in the country, in a small community called Whitehawk. There she had the woods for her playground, dirt roads for her adventures, and an entire wilderness for inspiration. She was lulled to sleep at night by the sound of drums and coyote calls. By day, she explored.Now, the world is her playground. She spent a year of school in France and another month in Prague. She taught English for a year in South Korea. She has walked on the Great Wall of China, scaled Reichenbach Falls where Sherlock Holmes nearly met his match, and stood in the ruins of Pompeii.Mir Foote is a world traveler, an amateur linguist, and lover of the written word. Currently, she is looking into the far reaches of the past and future, exploring new stories, and working on her next book.

Book preview

Here as the spring steps forth,

rolling away the gray into blue skies,

over bursts of brilliant budding life;

it is a time for new thoughts, new eyes,

and so let us leap into song and dance on windy footpaths,

away into a brand new world.

Morning's Door

If I could write me Home,

open up the sky and fall

between the whispered blades of green,

if I could walk upon that call

as fragile as the spider's web

woven of rain and dancing sun,

and find the door at sparkle's edge

where many worlds return to one;

then there in the dew I'd stand

strung as beads of dreams that may

be as glass before new eyes

and so I'll look and walk away.

Laugh

The baby screams its laughter in a parody of tears, anger, fear;

in screeches of merriment and joy,

like bells, like sirens, like cries.

Fingers reach out to touch the world,

poking at the soft and the sharp,

the hard edges and the rough bark;

reaching for flowers and wasps,

pillows and flames and starlight.

There is no cruelty, no malice in those eyes,

as fingers entangle themselves in hair and