God of tomorrow who created yesterday,
Made the day to give it away.
God who planted the tree,
Gave it to me and died there,
To show how much he cared,
While I wandered away
Into a prodigal day without light.
Too scared to go home,
To scared to stay alone,
He became a dream in me of yesterday.

The beggars in my Father’s house,
Eat better than I His child.
If I can make the journey back,
At least I will not lack,
The scraps from the table.
The days are hot the nights long,
As I walk past the place,
Where I once played the harlot,
To the wine and to the song.
Now I can see my home.

There is someone running out to me,
Is he coming out to make me leave?
He looks like an older me!
Wait could it be my Abba,
Running out to see if it might be.
I am covered with swine dung,
As he runs and flings his arms,
Around my sin stained neck.
His bloodstained tears wash me clean.
I hear him whisper, my child you have returned.

2023 Tim D. Coulter Sr.