I wrote this poem early Monday morning in reflection on the Parable about the Lost Son.

Angry and Outside the House

I too was angry and outside the house,
Toiling on days I would have wanted to just hang out,
and hearing my boss when I wanted to be home,
and hearing some clients who would not hear me.
I heard the ways of this world,
and not looking ahead,
I could not rejoice.
My parties were there, but somehow fake.
My hugs were there but clasped weakly.
My smiles smiled, and were they bright?
Poor me, poor me, I can’t quite say it,
But it is with me still, and
He sees it and she sees it;
I am all about me,
and the anger rises.
Angry at family? Angry at colleagues?
Angry at work? Angry at this World?
Angry at me.

And then in the quiet,
in the back of the room,
He invites me in.
“You are always with me.
Everything I have is yours.”

Let us celebrate my brother.
He was dead and now he is vibrant and pure.
In this community, he
Lives.
And I am alive, anger lost.

(c) Tom Bolton, Milwaukee, July 23, 2012