The Prodigal

He cannot undo the past

Tasting the bitterness of shame

Haunted by embarrassment

Cast adrift in helplessness,

Towards the house where he was born,

Grew up,

Longed to be free.


His miserable, repentant steps

No shoes heavy on his feet,

Weighted down only by a forlorn heart

Riddled with guilt.


Awaiting his father’s burning response,

A moment through unworthy eyes,


His father running

His father’s love

His father’s embrace

His father’s acceptance


Before the fog of sorrow raises its sword,

A dance of joy, compassion with a kiss.


The best robe

Ring on his finger

Sandals on his feet


This is my son, who has come home.

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1 Response to The Prodigal

  1. Mary says:

    Alan, your poem brought the story of “The Prodigal Son” to life. What a joyful reunion when someone estranged returns home!

Thank you for reading my poems. Please don't feel you have to comment. I enjoyed writing them, I hope you enjoyed reading them, Be blessed.

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