("Out of the sun's dazzle, somebody spoke my name." - Charles Causely)
After all this time, it won't be easy
I'd left him guiltily back then. He'd given
everything I asked without a word.
He'd sent no one to check up on my life.
In no time, I'd gone through the legacy.
Sure, it's tough now making ends meet:
I'd be better off emptying the slops
in the old home.
And so I'm heading back.
It's heavy going, the last hundred yards.
I tell myself 'What pride have I to lose?'
Somebody's coming toward me through the sun.
What if it's him, trying to head me off?
(I sent no news, but he must surely know).
I stand still, worthless, steeled to meet
the shame -
the accusing finger,
the condemning voice.
The sun is in my eyes.
Blinded, I hear my name.
But what is this? I'm in my father's arms.
He holds me close. There must be some mistake.
His tears mix with mine like warm rain;
he's calling everyone to celebrate.
I still don't understand. I grope for light.
Now suddenly my mind swims with his vision.
Deep beneath the mess of what I was
I learn his sight, I'm seeing what he sees.
Something bright, untouched by hurt,
unblemished in the sun -
something I thought had no right to exist -
is growing through the rubble of the wrong:
chosen, cherished, unsuppressible,
something morning clean,
Beneath every immoral life
a lily inches up into the spring....