I once believed in a Messiah
And that we were to care for the sick and poor
That I would be judged one day
On how I treated the least of these
I discovered this economic and political system I grew up in
Was the reason for all this grief
For the suffering people
That it was diabolical, pure evil
Predatory
I told my friends
They did not believe me
They looked at me like a
Crazy man
I saw the homeless
And asked: "What would Messiah do?"
I did what I could
Despite my own struggles and limitations
But in the group, the team
The pack I was in
I saw few, so very few
Who ever gave a damn
They were the same
Just the same
Loving money
Worshipping it
All while singing with
Hands lifted high
One day per week
Then the guilt, the shame
The paranoia
About never being good enough
Plagued many of them
And rendered them ineffective
I was part of the cult
This cult of millions
This popular cult
That has spread worldwide
While many ideals were wonderful
The love of money
The self-glorification
Smothered
Overcame
The care
The love
I left
What else could I do?
I even gave up belief
In a supreme being
In all supernatural beings
Where were they?
There was no intervention
Just a lot of theory
A lot of talk
Chatter
But no action
Those who have power
Must take responsibility
Must care
But he, she, it
Whatever he is
Did nothing
People would claim
An answer here
A reply there
But it was all made up
It was all random
I walked away
But sometimes I look back
And wonder
And ponder
Some of those ideals were great
Can I retrieve them?
Without being distracted
By the love of money
By the pull of the group
Any group
Messiah
You are so hard to find
The people have yet
To know you . . .
~ Gunnar Våken
