Faith in the void

Faith in the Void

Sometimes faith isn’t a feeling—it’s a fight. This piece came from a place of spiritual fatigue, where prayer feels like screaming into silence. It’s not about losing belief, but about surviving when belief feels one-sided. When the light you chase keeps moving further away, and the silence is deafening, holding onto hope becomes an act of sheer stubbornness. This poem reflects that struggle, the raw, honest moments in the dark.

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I pray—

but my prayers fall like stones

into a well so deep

no sound ever returns.

I almost reach the light—

a faint glow at the end of a dark tunnel.

I push forward, trembling,

only to find the tunnel stretches further,

colder, darker still.

The light moves away

with every step I take.

I am trapped in this endless night.

Every time I’m ready to give up,

I feel the light draw closer—

so I push again, desperate—

and it slips farther away.

I ask God for mercy, for presence, for guidance.

There is nothing.

No answer.

No comfort.

No sign.

I sin and repent, sin and repent—

a broken cycle that numbs me.

Guilt no longer burns.

Blessing no longer warms.

Only a hollow emptiness remains—

a grave where faith once lived.

I do not curse God—

how could I?

But I am abandoned.

Left alone in a void so vast

that even hope withers beneath its weight.

Is this the test?

To walk without a guide,

to call into the void and hear only silence?

To hold onto faith when all signs vanish?

I am tired—

tired of waiting,

tired of hoping,

tired of the silence

that screams louder than any word.

Yet still I call His name—

not because I believe He hears,

but because I cannot stop.

Because to stop

would be to die

in a darkness without end,

without even the mercy of despair.

God,

if You have forsaken me,

if Your face is forever hidden,

then know this:

I will endure this abyss,

I will scream into this void,

I will carry this burden

until my last breath is spent

and the light I sought

is swallowed forever by the dark.

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Writing this was not an act of rebellion against God, but of honesty with myself. I still believe—but it’s not a peaceful belief. It’s stubborn, desperate, raw. The faith I carry is a burden and a lifeline both, born in the void where silence screams louder than words. To endure this darkness without answers is to walk a lonely road—one where hope is fragile and doubt is a constant companion.

But maybe this is the truest form of faith—not the kind that demands signs or certainty, but the kind that endures in the absence of all those things. To call into the void, knowing there may be no response, and to keep calling anyway. That is courage. That is survival.

If this is my test, I accept it. I will carry this burden until the end of my days. Because giving up would be to surrender to an abyss deeper than any night I have known. And even in this vast darkness, there remains a flicker of something—whether it is light, or memory, or the stubborn will to endure.