The Prodigal

I am giving you all another poem of mine, the date written is at the bottom.  This is only the second poem I’ve included on here, for good reason, as you’ll see after reading.   Poetry is the first form of creative writing I ever did and it hooked me into the “business” . . . but let’s just say it’s not my “forte”. 

<3  Em

The Prodigal  

I scratch my head at 2 a.m.

and wonder why I’m here.

What in me chose the city life,

          with people so far yet so near?

 

My heavy heart looks longingly

at all the memories past.

Wishing myself there once more

            under youth’s protected mast.

 

Wide and open prairies shine

stretching on for miles.

Wheat fields catch the sun’s bright rays

            showing God’s golden smile.

 

Forests shielding nature’s life

    and river’s bubbling streams.

Up a particular maple

           was the greatest place for dreams.

 

Merciless blizzards whip ’round

        snuggling houses deep in snow,

giving families the perfect chance

to bond together and grow.

 

As the tears streak down my face

I remember people dear.

Loved ones that I miss so much

and haven’t seen in years.

 

My parents, always sowing love,

     Little brother, trouble but fun,

Grandparents, always there for me

            if I ever needed somewhere to run.

 

Uncles and Aunts, cousins too,

our clan so full of joy

laughing and teasing eachother,

 the oldest girl and youngest boy.

 

Our church, although very old

          was my favorite place to be

the encouragement, the love,

the faith and sincerity.

 

Our congregation, fairly small,

gathered together each week.

Learning together, praising God,

       listening to our pastor speak. . .

 

Finally I can take no more,

           and know what I need to do.

Memories may be beautiful

          but they can bring pain,too.

 

Dashing from the room

            I ignore the glowing clock,

in my heart there is no time

         and no restraining lock.

 

I packed no clothes, made no calls

only drove on for miles.

They’d be waking when I arrived

                            greeting with warm hugs and smiles.

 

Soon sights become familiar

                   and my thoughts no longer roam.

I jump out crying happily,

              for at long last I’ve come home.

 

            Written by Emily Grace

the evenings of

February 1st. and 2nd. 2004