Desperate for his autonomous self-identity,
“You’re dead to me!”
The Father falters,
Sagging to His knees.
His heart, evading clutching fingertips,
Shatters as it collides with the floor.
Greedily snatches up half of the shards
And flees through the back door.
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!”