Oh the weary wanderings
of that silly son
Who can’t reconcile his retreat
but continues on the run
That crafty, that capricious conscience
On who’s whimsical watch
finds no time for penance
A transitory fellow
seeking only care-free condition
Disposing without a care
or notion of contrition
His God-given gifts
and unmade choices
And thus made, though not
by ignoring those voices
That appeal to his younger
more righteous reason
Heeding instead the voices
that better suit the season
Leaving vocation to thirst
unquenched and dry
Impervious to it all
because the end is never nigh
All his truths and convictions
ephemeral in nature
This wandering son
this prodigal creature