Home  Poetry  About   Events   Workshops   A fracking conspiracy   Poetic Portraits   Instructions   Shop    Gallery   Contact
The prodigal son

“Where is God?” the preacher asked. He looked upon his flock.
“If you let him lead the way, God can be your rock.
“God will lead you by the hand from darkness and from sin,
“But if you want his help then you will have to let him in.”

David had been listening, for years, to this talk.
He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to take a walk.
He’d worked so hard, he’d been so good. He’d prayed to God for years,
Confessed his sins a thousand times: he’d cried a thousand tears.

“Where, on God’s green Earth, are you going to, my son?”
Called the preacher as the young man left. “My sermon isn’t done.”
“I don’t know where I’m going, Father,” David whispered back.
“But I need to leave the church – I must find a different track.”

And then he left the church, and he closed the door behind him.
Would his father or his brother care? Would either try to find him?
He didn’t want them to, so he went straight home to change.
He packed a single bag of clothes. Everything seemed strange.

Where, on God’s green Earth, could a son of God find Peace?
A sinless life would send him mad. He needed some release.
So first he phoned the bank, and withdrew what he had saved.
He was done with praying every day, with being well behaved.

He wanted sex. He wanted drugs. He wanted lavish cake.
Did Jesus die for sins we’ve made or sin’s we’ve yet to make?
David had been good for years, going slowly crazy.
And now the time had come to be gluttonous and lazy.

And so he went a-gallivanting through the world of sin;
Every door he knocked on – they would smile and let him in.
He went to the casinos and the parties and the bars,
Where they gave him punch and ecstasy to help him count the stars;

One night he lay in ruin with a woman on the beach;
They’d counted thirty thousand stars – fifteen thousand each.
They’d had sex for several hours. The pleasure had been grand,
But David found he did not want to kiss or hold her hand.

He wondered what this meant as he kissed her cheek goodbye.
He turned away and walked towards the sunrise dappled sky.
The early morning waves were lapping gently on shore;
Above him, swirls of pinky cloud were whispering for more.

So David found a place to sit and watch the rising Sun.
This life allowed him freedom – yes? So, technically, he’d won.
But all the friends he’d made: did they ever stay in touch?
He didn’t mind. He didn’t really like them very much.

They did not quench his thirst for a truth he’d never known.
And even with this woman on the beach he’d felt alone.
So he sat upon a rock with the Sun upon his face
Observing how all waves start slow and slowly gather pace.

His eyes began to water as he watched the lapping sea.
Like breaking waves on sand he realised that he was free.
He saw he’d always been this way, but hadn’t seen before.
He’d been look for a window and had never seen the door.

He wept a little more with his hand upon his chest,
Smiling as he whispered, laying down to finally rest,
“We can ride the waves of grief like a surfer on the foam,
Full to overspill with joy that there’s no place like home.”

22nd January 2014 Simon Welsh Poetry
Please leave comments here using your Facebook account