My Brother, Prodigal Son


The prodigal son returns, or so they say

broken by life’s bastard billows but

able to remember from whence he came

We drove past, crowded street illuminated by sun and sin

and decorated with homeless hunted with relentless demons

the house guarded by angry black gates next to a corner store

and silence that was only punctured by the woman shouting

silence that lay heavy over us and overshadowed the light of the sun

because we knew that he wasn’t there, a dead apartment, abandoned

we searched, the tear trails not yet carved but clearly waiting

as we scan the small community of possessed broken people

who lower than pigs because they are not able to eat

but rather lay in the sun and wait for something that makes sense

is he lost among them, searching relentless for the chasing figures

or is he running to and fro unable to rest with the rest of us

always just a step ahead of me like when I was a child looking up

looking at the golden boy silver tongued devil that was both devil and angel

wrapped up in enigma and mystery and pain but still hopefull

the prodigal prodigy with prodigious capabilities seemingly invincible

and yet he now is broken by the battering of the bitter pill he swallowed

when he was born that made him a wanderer, unable to rest, to resist

Where did you go my brother, brother where did you go

how can i look up to you if you are at rock bottom

how can i follow if you are lost in your mind

how can i help if you are alone


One thought on “My Brother, Prodigal Son

  1. This is emotionally charged on an incredible level. It’s a glimpse into a private world, but only a glimpse. Whatever could push up these lines–no one can fully know. But in reading, there is a desperate longing to shoulder the burden, at least in part. Overwhelming, but by no means overdone. I wish you all of good-will, my friend.

    The Scribbler

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