Prayer of an Apostate

But sever me, O lord, from all this dread,

and I will bind a truer cassock fast

upon my soul; but tear fears from my eyes,

and I will drink your mercies till I sleep

upon my cups; but trailblaze me a way,

and I will monument a fire

to your name. My rose's thorns cut deep

into the beauty of resolve; my tears

stick in my eyes, and expiation's calm

has lost the charm of novelty today.

Speak not to me of sin, or tainted coin,

for I have lost no simple peace I ever

could have kept; but let me cast my dice.

I am what I should be - this I believe

and shall hold fast to through all tears and screams,

all burning tongs or cross-borne days that come.

But let me work, and see what I can make

when all the fires of hell lie not in wait.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A prayer... of an apostate.  Sometimes I realize what I think only when the poems come, and I think this is one of those times.

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