Thursday, April 22, 2010

Maybe we can carpool.

They despised me when I walked among them. The disobedient son who paid no tribute to lip service and said what everyone else was thinking. I was never welcome at the table.

They feared punishment. Substance is what I sought, something that was real, even if it was pain.

They are the faithful. Saying that they will do "His will", but only doing their own. Watching to see who is watching. The left hand always knowing what the right is doing.

Now I'm the sheep who forgot his way, the lost coin that cannot be found, the seed planted on rocky soil. I'm stuck in the thicket, I lay within the cracks, my roots have died and have scattered in the wind.

They cringe when I appear, teeth gnash. They think that I might test or even tempt them. Our morality the same, but I choose to be honest. One of the few commandments that I won't violate.

No longer the faithful servant, but I'm not the only one. The son who has gone to waste his inheritance, the prodigal who won't be returning home. I wouldn't be welcome. Unknowingly, they are the reason that they think I will burn.

Place the mill stone around my neck. I choose to be a stumbling block.