Apostate
Many would call me that.
It is a label I would take on
As willingly as many others.
I’ve given justification for most,
If not all,
And stand accused and unrepentant.
I bear the scars, though most lie hidden,
And bring them out infrequently
As justification for what I am,
What I have become.
A poor excuse I must admit,
But all that I have at hand.
I no longer believe.
I have given up that steadfast faith,
Held in that certainty of youth,
That says my fate is mine to make.
I was swept by tides and gales,
Cast upon these jagged rocks
And left to founder, perhaps to die,
A withered carcass of scales and bone
Drying in the sun.
I once believed, in those halcyon days,
This clay was mine to shape.
I was told it was so.
And I believed.
But I now confess my apostasy.
My faith was rent by experience,
Torn by broken dreams
And left for gulls to pick apart
And gales to scatter to the corners
Of this sordid world.
So I declare my apostasy
And await my fate.
Palimpsest 
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