today i tried to slip on
my Fathers coat, a heavy weight
with shoulders straight, it bent down
almost to my waist.
encloaked and wrapped,
i wore His hat, and sat
and ate like Him,
then i drank
and sipped
and thanked
and then i sipped again.
i waived a hand, and wrote a check,
jotting down an note…
but all along it wasn’t Him,
it was jut my Father’s clothes
so i tried to shout like Him,
and then i called his friends,
and with them i could act like Him
but they know it’s just pretend.
and i tasked to write like Him
and sing like He would do,
yet i only wrote my name
i only sang my tune.
so i tried to give like Him,
i scraped and lost and bled,
i showed my love to others
yet they only said,
“that love, my boy, it looks like you,
my boy, that isn’t Him.”
so i, defeated, lonely still,
packed the clothes,
finished the notes,
and gave my goals away.
only then as a naked boy
did i hear my Father say,
“where are you, where are you?
My son, My own?
I’ve found My things scattered everywhere—
but where the one that I love most?”
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