Prodigal Son

In ancient tales
It’s said
The son, sitting with pigs
Missed the fatted calf
At home
So leaving pigs alone
He wandered home
Back into his father’s arms
And into another pen
Duty to his family
Perhaps the son
Grown tired of pigs
Did not return home
Perhaps his father’s love
Strangled his very soul
Grown strong in pigs swill
He’d learnt to see through shit
And now could bear with pride
His name
The prodigal
For the prodigal no longer needed
His father’s embrace
Having learnt to embrace himself
And he had learnt
His duty to himself

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