He traveled south on the freight train running from the winter cold.
The pain of his loss simmered underneath his rough dry skin.
His smile was always a lie not like before the truth had been sold.
Along with his soul he wondered if he could even live again.
His myriads of stories he gladly left scattered on a railroad track.
He wanted to gaze upon his Father’s face just once more.
Starvation is not what kills a man nor do burdens break his back.
It is the grief of never going home that leaves a festering sore.
He jumped off the freight and still lived, much to his dismay.
He trembled and tripped over his Father’s golden wheat fields.
He knelt in the dirt and began to cry and slobber as he prayed.
He had only emptiness to offer, no sword he still could wield.
As he squinted in the pale spring sun he thought he saw a man.
His hoarse voice began to scream yet never made a sound.
Then all at once he was in his Father’s arms bleating like a lamb.
He heard the words whispered in his ear, “my son you were lost but now you’re found.””