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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.
