I stand at the heart of it,
Surrounded by black crows of men;
Harrying, hating, snapped to judgment.
Heretic! they cry. Infidel!
But I am none of these
Guilty only of seeking
A different life.
There is one
Who has looked through
My eyes, seen what I have seen,
Who I would have thought would understand;
But no, no friend to change, he
Rejects my need to live in truth
In favor of what is already written
And must be hewn to.
So I recant
Do what I must, surrender what
matters most to me to preserve
My standing, keep my life intact.
As they leave, satisfied,
I, huddled in myself, murmur
In a quiet voice:
Still, I love …