After having taken part in the historic Silence Stops Now rally this month, I wanted to write a piece about it... but I just couldn't find the words to truly express myself. So, here is a poem (I guess you could call it that). It's a cross between a rap, a rant, and a poem. ;) Also posted on my blog.
Where have You gone? Bride of the Creator.
Am I standing alone, will You return later?
Are we left for dead? On the edge of a razor?
And what are we left with? Satan’s smoke & his vapors,
They said that its fine, but my Love, are they lying?
The Churches are left with no trace of Divine,
no space left for Christ, white spaces disguised,
We’re told tasteless lies from the pulpit is fine.
“Be nice, there’s no need for more soldiers of Christ.”
We want to be Saints not give up till we die!
Tradition’s a prize, sold to skeptics online,
Modernism replaces Your doctrines worldwide,
Your artwork and laces, are burned & despised,
What’s left of Your beauty is then chastised,
grey faces and lies, left behind to remind,
that we’ve lost the fight, now its time to unwind.
We live as if blind, yet are told to be kind,
“be unfaithful” they said, “and don’t dare ask us why.
The Church is now greater, sit down and be nice.”
Yet hard as we try, we can’t help but mock it,
this man-centered circus, of worshiping profit,
they work to accomplish, greater gain for their pockets,
no souls to reap harvest, just keep them responsive,
don’t tell them hard truths, just smile and be quiet.
“Life is not a great battle,” we hear from the pulpit,
“It’s not about rules, or nostalgic old habits”
Sweet Bride hush the riot, tell us You’re still near,
we beg this charade to just disappear,
So many are lost and of sin have no fear,
Your teachings now twisted; they’ve made them unclear.
Your Princes’ are stained, high up in their towers.
Little ones at their weakest, rightly asked those in power,
what to do in this world, at this darkening hour.
They thought it was safe, near the Bishops empowered,
holding their mitres, but all becomes sour,
little ones were devoured, violated, deflowered,
with nothing left, and alone with no power,
left to walk this world tainted, feeling so jaded,
wondering if the faith was baited, and how many fake it?
Is Faith a lie? or were they mistaken?
What does love mean? I’m asking here, shaken,
because now it’s all fine, they say, but they’re lying,
and nobody cares if we’re alive or we’re dying,
and the ones who violate are allowed to keep trying,
still left on the prowl, hunting, hurting, conniving.
Do they think that we’re lying, Or are we insane?
The victims are hugged but then asked to play games,
be part of their club, just don’t start naming names.
We don’t want the fame, we’re not part of their game,
we just wanted Christ, but that’s not what they gave,
we came for the Cross and they gave us a fake,
we begged for the Faith, and now we’re thrown away.
Unnatural ways, deep inside them ablaze,
but if nothing will change, we all surely will pay.
It is time, Bride of Christ, perhaps this is the day?
That Christ will choose to come fix all this pain?
Not just bodily aches, but the mortal sins fate!
How many, we pray, that in mercy You’d save,
before the time stops and it will be too late.
We must live as the Saints, whom we venerate,
every day from holiness, we cannot dare stray.
We must never lose hope, and earnestly we wait.
Cover photo - Aid from the Padre, 1962.
