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.