I wrote this poem upon returning from a trip to Puebla, Mexico in 2017. I strive to live my life in gratitude and faith, and with an immense love for He who sacrificed His life for me on the cross, but this trip was just too much, so I wrote….
Not one More Baroque Church
I cannot take one more helpless stare,
My heart breaks
when the pain I caused stares back.
There is no redemption, no glory to be found.
I cannot take one more crown of thorns,
one more drop of blood,
your death kills me, ever present
in every wall and every niche.
No more lavishly encased relics
in this faithful land of yours
that bares pain as an amulet.
Last I remember you resurrected, and walked
along the sea of Galilee
where you said you would be with us until the end of times.
Yet we forget and worship you on the cross.
I came here seeking your peace,
your light burden and easy yoke,
but everywhere I see pain and anguish
and blood, lots of blood.
Next to my bed, your image
rendering the time you walked the road to Emmaus.
The joy of a new life; resurrection
reflected in your sacred light.
Like Machado, I can’t nor want to worship you on the cross
and deplore the faith of my ancestors.
I desperately seek a ladder to climb up to you
and remove those blasphemous nails.
Last I remember you resurrected
and left footprints on the sand.
You said you would be with me until the end of times
I know, for I left my boat by the shore
To follow you.