Son,

Desperate for his autonomous self-identity,

Screams,

“You’re dead to me!”

 

The Father falters,

Sagging to His knees.

His heart, evading clutching fingertips,

Shatters as it collides with the floor.

The boy

Greedily snatches up half of the shards

And flees through the back door.

 

Wanton,

Wandering,

Wastrel .

Who would have thought

The Spirit would find him amongst the other swine?

 

Slow, tentative footsteps drag towards home

To meet the thundering wrath

Of the Father’s squandered heart.

 

The self-absorbed apology

Is interrupted by the half-choked sob

Of a Father’s love,

Erupting from the depths of His inmost being:

“He is alive!”

 

 

– Steve

Feb 2020.