Ejercitando la creatividad

We treat you like Moloch, a blood-thirsty god  and offer our children for favor and guns We lift you up as our banner, our warrior god, and claim without doubt  that you are on our side We're greedy wanderers striking rocks for money-water building altars to Mammon, chasing after the next savior-idol We pretend to be You,  our very own god, we call all the shots and decide what is right  Mercy, mercy We're blind seekers groping for a helping hand,  confused and bruised by the lies of false prophets, longing for truth and for light 

Sometimes I picture you like a plaster Jesus nailed to a wall who has eyes but can't see who has ears but can't hear at all You seem like a rag doll who does not open his mouth when yanked by the Right and snatched by the Left, lifted like a golden calf of their own design "My favorite emptiness," calls you the poet, perhaps groping for the True God (Me too!) (Me too!) I'm Doubting Thomas, Denying Peter But then... Then I remember your acts of love and cling to the promise of your second coming May you open our eyes May you kill our pride May your kingdom come May your will be done May our idols be toppled to the ground

A veces te figuro inerte como un Cristo de yeso colgado en la pared que tiene oídos pero no oye, ojos, pero no ve Pareces un muñeco de trapo que no abre la boca, jaloneado a la Derecha, arrebatado por la Izquierda, levantado como el becerro de oro, para que les hagas un milagro "Mi vacío predilecto" te llama el poeta, y lo comprendo... A veces pareciera que no estás... Pero entonces te recuerdo a mi lado, Cristo Crucificado, Recuerdo tus actos de amor, Cristo Resucitado, Y me uno al clamor: ¡Ven, Señor Jesús!