Father and Son

The once was a King

A very wise King

For all His subjects He cared

He’d walk the streets

Everyday

To see the lives they shared

They would get up early

To milk the cows

And collect the chickens’ eggs

To buy the bread

And plow the field

Which took up most of their days

One day the King

Met a man

Dirty, tired and poor

Being a slave

And meeting the King

Was honorable I’m sure

The man was polite

Kept his eyes on the ground

And bowed awkwardly in place

He shook his hand

Offered his praise

Never looking the king in the face

“tell me your name”

Said the king to the slave

Putting aside the fact that he already knew

“I am but a slave”

He said under his breath

Because that was the best he could do

And quickly away

Slipped the slave in the crowd

Avoiding the King’s gaze (or Avoiding the feeling of shame)

Never had he

Met a man

Who’d cared about his name

Well the King mindful

That the slave had left

Followed him to his home

And watched through the window

As the slave took his hand

And beat every child he owned

The wise King knew

That slaves’ live tough lives

For He was one of the best

So the good King

Invited the man to dinner

Instead of putting him to death

Well the man

Accepted the offer

With reluctance for he knew

The good King

Saw his hands

And he was ashamed of the two

Soon the day came

The feast was prepared

With many wonderful foods

So the King sat

And waited and waited

For the slave who was so rude

He waited one minute

He waited and hour

He waited a day and a half!

But the slave

Never showed

So the King, alone He sat

The next day the King

Left the castle again

To find the slave who’d forgotten

To come and eat

A feast with Him

Because now the food was rotten

As He paced the streets

He saw the slave

From a short distance away

Overhearing

The slave’s conversation

And what he was about to say

“You know I met

The King,” said the slave

“He invited me to eat,

With Him inside

The castle up there,

What a spectacular feat!”

The other man

Who heard him brag

Laughed and mocked his words

Then ducked as the slave

Swung for his face

Intending to cause him hurt

The King called the guards

And grabbed the slave

And brought him before the throne

Him and the King

One robed, one chained

In the room all alone

The slave on his knees

The King on His chair (or seat)

As silence hung in the room

The King stood up

Stepped out of His place

A melody as soft as a croon

He kneeled with the slave

Face to face

Looking the man in the eye

The slave looked away

Quick and stern

Trying to hide his inside

The King quietly

Whispered again

“Slave, what is your name?”

“I am willing

To accept amends

If you are willing to change”

The slave looked at Him

Then stared at the ground

Then looked again at His face

Staring into

The eyes of the man

Who has shown him so much grace

He drew back his lips

Closed his eyes

Then spit as hard as he could

And then he wept

Because he never could do

The things he knew he should

The King was quiet

As saliva rolled down

And dripped off the edge of His chin

In that moment

Both stood still

And wept over and over again

The King wept for

The broken man

The broken man because of his sin

The King wiped His chin

And looked at the slave

Who was weeping for himself

And the slave wept

Over and over again

Because he could do nothing else

“Child,” said the King

“Child?” squeaked the slave

Barely able to speak

“Son,” said the King

“Father?” said the slave

Not fully understanding

“Home,” said the Father

“I am,” said the song

In the quiet they finally embrace

“Love” says the Father

“I know” says the son

“Your (You’re) Justice, Your (You’re) Mercy, Your (You’re) Grace.