Among the Hogs

Among the Hogs
Came to myself
And the sight was not pretty
Came to myself
In a mud-spattered mess.
Father had rendered
My share in the family
Knowing full well
That it scarcely could bless.
Friends had been fast
As I opened the purse-strings
Life had seemed sweet
In the dark rooms of sin
Wine is a mocker
And strong drink is raging
Feeling a king-pin
I sauntered right in.
Now I am working
A stranger’s foul homestead
Feeding his swine
This, a Jew’s strangest thought
Missing my Father
And joys at the Home-Farm
Cursed this condition
My own lusts had wrought.
Might I go back
And appeal now for mercy?
Yes, it seems wiser
Than all else around
Sensing a hope
That defies all description:
Dead might be raised
And the lost might be found.


 
Note: In my estimation the story of the Prodigal Son is the best in all of human invention. But of course it is Jesus’ story and transcends the images of limited, sinful scribes.