HOME TO OUR FATHER

Like a cow draws away from the abattoir

Our feet reject the path

That leads to the table of men

Where prodigals are served swine-feed

Forests are only fit for cast-outs

Royals live in castles

We are home,

 On graced soles

Like a stray sheep returns to the shepherd,

Away from the reckless passions

Of our fleshy souls,

And from booming theatres of doom

Where clearers of broad paths

Lead the roll of casts