The Unbeliever

I could wax poetic about the loss of innocence,

the awkward-sad tumble into adulthood,

beginning at teen-age and tangling up your limbs ‘til your twenties.

I could go on about all sorts of global injustice,

about the campaign of terror being waged in the Philippines,

or the ethnic cleansing in Myanmar.

I could write tome after tome on love long lost,

a volume out of “I miss you. Please come home.”

until I rid myself of that final teardrop.

In their stead, I write the praise of the common sinner,

the unbeliever, the debauched heretic,

heir to the throne of kings of men,

ere he rises once again.

Building his kingdom atop a foundation of lessons hard-learned

No adherent of the faith is he

No dogmatic devotion to hold him back

No clergymen or handlers to cast influence

Convictions forged in the white-hot flame of a life well-lived

Does he know right from wrong?

Is there a wrong and a right?

He can tell the black from the white,

but finds life more fulfilling lived in the in-between.

Grey stone towers grasp at grey clouds,

and a grey stone keep climbs the grey horizon behind them.

Seated in the grey throne room is our friend the unbeliever,

ruling over a great grey kingdom.