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 it's 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.