A poem for my generation:
God, I plead have mercy
on my friends who have turned away–
because how can you blame us?
You gave us Science like a wedding gift
to know your intimate thoughts,
but they’ve made you seem like a liar.
The previous generations have spilled Sex
into every soaking fold of our nation’s fabric
and You call us sinful for it.
So wouldn’t you expect us to resent you
for the guilt stained into our thighs
and for our little brothers who say, ‘screw it all;
weren’t we made like this?’
Of all the world’s handsome leaders
We’ve found none trustworthy to reign supreme
So we’ve made Democracy our god,
We’ve placed our faith in Human Rights
because how could we trust a Heavenly Father
who sends his children down to die.
(Like my devout mom who slipped off our roof.)
We’ve tried to find you in Religions-
but all we know is to switch temples
like channels, when we’re left wanting
because Television was our teacher.
God, in You alone I trust– only You.
But can you see now
how little we know of what we do?
Have mercy on our soot-laden land, Lord.
Raise up scientists and artists and politicians
who have seen Heaven
to speak in our dialect about Sex and Science
and your Sweeping Hand of Mercy.
Train our eyes and our bravery
to take up light in fragile lanterns
that can gather all our scattered tribes–
all the skin and sinew from the night–
into your Gentle Hands of Mercy,
God, I plead.