El Asunto

Este es el asunto:
Tengo el corazón envuelto en capas.
Y me pregunto:
¿Qué irá a pasar si lo destapas?

Cuando, al mirar, encuentras fallas
¿Te asombrará el mal que hallas?
O, ¿parecerá un vil espejo,
Dándote, sombrío, tu reflejo?

Not Enough

Not enough to make the perfect beast,

Held, compelled, by puppet strings above.

For not until his will could be released

Could ever there, in truth, exist . . . a love.

Thus, unshackled, free to choose, he rose.

“Not enough,” said he.

And so it goes . . .

Not enough to leave mankind below—

Tragic, willing marionettes of Death,

For, He loved these foolish creatures so,

Fragile things, a brief and dying breath.

And so: to leave or rescue them? He chose.

“Not enough,” said they.

And so it goes . . .

On and on the petty mantra stands.

“Not enough!” we cry, and stamp our feet.

“We never will give in to your demands!”

And, tantrum-led, His gentle face we beat.

We will not rest, ‘till trampled in the sod,

We find the mutilated face . . . of god.