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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1115148-The-Prodigal-Child
by Des
Rated: E · Other · Religious · #1115148
This is a poem about the prodical child that finally realizes that he needs to come home.
Once, You gave life to me,
Your breath, my very being.
I got lost in the flesh of me,
believed only in that I was seeing.

So blinded by the world's frigid cold,
that drew night over my eyes.
With no hope, no arms to be sure,
was hidden beneath my lies.

The night only carried on forever,
though the day had said hello.
To sleep would be my first endeavor,
where my burdens might be let go.

Yet soon enough, my eyes would awake,
to see the night disguised by day.
What was the use in pressing on,
when my heart had gone astray?

Once, I looked out at the night,
that had been my friend so long.
But this time knew her emptiness,
her old and tired song.

Now that my disguise had grown old and frail,
how shall I hide my fears?
Which pillow might I hide beneath,
to smother all my tears?

Now I see she had only lied,
and I so willingly was her prey.
took the bait, fed off her charm,
to my own destruction and dismay.

What is my life, this mess I've made,
this person I pretend to be?
Always struggling, forever climbing,
so that someone might love me.

When all along, I've fooled all others,
but myself has known my guilt.
Once, I was formed like a rose in the spring,
but now by shame, I've come to wilt.

I thirst! O my God, I thirst!
I hunger for something real.
By this need in me, so profound, I'm led
to Your mercy seat where I kneel.

Although I've never known You,
although this world has polluted my sight,
there must be more, there must be You,
or I would not yourn for Your Light.

And how I have embraced the darkness,
the lies that I had become.
Always hiding, forever afraid,
always on the run.

But now I am tired, Jesus,
I am weary of my plight.
My soul is exhausted,
I have left, no fight.

Now I am hushed,
by the truth of it all.
Through my attempts to rise above,
I have only come to fall.

So this I hold, this mess I've made,
in my hands, so scared I give.
All that's left, this shame and guilt,
in Your hands to forgive.

Revive me.O Lord, I ask Thee,
Restore my soul to its youth.
Strengthen me, my legs so worn,
to stand on the Rock of Truth.

Let me draw my strength from You,
from my doubts, my shelter be.
I hand back this life that I have destroyed,
that once, I had been given from Thee.
© Copyright 2006 Des (desley at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1115148-The-Prodigal-Child