Prodigal Son


The man I love has always been my idol,
placed high on a pedestal in my soul.
I live as though my actions serve him.
Jesus is much harder for me to love than
the man I haven't seen in two years
and still fantasize about.
The Bible is too heavy in my hands,
I'd much rather carry this
unrequited love in my heart.
How do I love someone I've never held in my arms?
When I've n felt the heat from his body?
If I haven't pressed my lips against theirs?
The worship of a deity is a shared experience
while the love I carry for him is my own
and I prefer solitude over community.
The return of my lost love is what I pray for
as those in the pulpit pray
for the return of their Son—
to know his love hasn't wavered
as my lost love's certainly has.
He has no more Psalms in his heart for me,
no memory of the paradise he abandoned me in
with the serpent and the fruit I can't bear to eat,
for if I eat it and step outside to see
the new world he lives in happily without me,
it would feel like the fires of Hell itself.

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