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The Prodigal Cries
Deafening
rapid fire blasts
Shatter
the transluscent margins of
Silence
with
Harrowed cries
gasped
Howls
echo from one side to the other
Of the heart’s vast arena
with a repeating chorus
of ruing
Pleas
Of the gone lost
Groaning for home
in frayed syllables
Grasping
at last
To a measure of hope
Possible
in a faith’s apologies
And abiding love’s
Pronounced touch
of forgiveness…
** “I am the prodigal son every time I search for
unconditional love where it cannot be found.”
Henri Nouwen: “ The Prodigal Son “
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(c) sally eslinger 2/3/2025
Copyright ©
Sally Eslinger
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