The Bastard Son

The Bastard Son                           May 26, 2007

Cast out the door,

I walk down a lonesome road.

No place in particular to go

Except to find a new home.

Dirt tracks lead to asphalt ones,

And asphalt brings heat.

The sweat tells me I might have to dig

In order to be free.

 

Father, Father,

For why have I sinned?

I talked to you

And there's this grievence, you contend.

I have my thoughts

But you kick me out the door.

Oh well, Father.

I'll walk down my own pathway.

 

I never thought freedom was a scare

Until I became His Bastard Son.

Now, I'm walking the perennial mile

In my brand new shoes.

I never felt I could be afraid

Until my designs were devised

And He couldn't look upon

Without casting me aside.

 

Perhaps this is THE measure of a man.

This, then, is my destiny.

Suns will rise and then fall.

It might be many moons.

A lover or two to swoon,

And cherubs to spoil might consume,

And Death might visit me soon,

But I can only contend

That the only hand to point this out

Is Time, which is infinity.

 

Oh Father, I can never escape your grasp,

And I wail.