Category : Poems
Sub Category : N/A
The prodigal son stands
At the edge of his father’s house
In the distance his father is waiting
Arms wide open
Waiting to welcome his son home.
They’ve been here before
The son, broken, bruised, scarred.
His father, open, loving, forgiving.
And each time
The son ends up where he started
With no idea how he got there
Each time he wants to stay
The world calls him back.
He tries to forget all he saw
But how do you forget
What’s been engraved in your consciousness?
The prodigal son returns home
for the thousandth time
But he’s not sure he’s really here.