Parable
The angels speak of it still,
that evening when the Son
approached the Father and
said in a romanced tongue:
Je suis responsable de ma rose.
Or, as the angels understood,
I am responsible for those I love.
The Father was well pleased
with his beloved, threw his
arms around his neck to kiss
him. Then he ordered Slowly,
remove the best robe from his
shoulders, take my ring off
his hand, unshod his feet, put
away our wine and song. We
will feast no more for my Son
is now lost, he will surely die.
And so began the Father’s ache.
The angels would witness him
each evening, standing at the
gate, waiting and watching.
Brilliant! Such a good play on an old theme
Thank you, Kendall…it is an old theme, isn’t it?
I love this! Esp. the French, which just makes the whole thing flow. Such a tragically joyful moment.
Hi, Heather. Yes, the French just seemed to fit. Thanks for stopping by.
When I finished, I vocally uttered a noise that sounded like what I think “awe” sounds like.
Rich, try and capture that sound as I’d like to hear what it sounds like…thanks!
John, you make me believe in poetry like no one else these days. Thank you, again. And again.
Actually, Diana, thank YOU for being a faithful reader, again and again.
Tu savez bien que nous t’aimon beaucoup, John. Nous ne t’aimon pas pour las paroles, mais pour l’homme que sas paroles fait.
Mark, gracias, over and out.
:0)
John-
Somehow this makes me think of the parable of the prodigal kid. I really love poems/stories that bring separate ideas in close to touch and reflect on one another. Thanks.
Brett, you are welcome…thank you for stopping by.
Beautiful. I love the way it ends–with him standing at the gate, waiting and watching. There is a sense of expectancy and an awareness that the story will continue.
Bill, yes, that’s a good image, isn’t it? Thanks for your thoughts.
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