His Prodigal Daughter

I am the Lord’s prodigal daughter.

Form from the ribs of man.

Taken out of man to be suitable to fit in this land.

Perfect image is where I stem from.

However generations of chains that have not been broken through.

Tree of knowledge yet wisdom of flesh.

Bones of my bones yet broken pieces that ache.

Two worlds blend but streets that have dead ends.

Collision of souls but explosive words.

The good and evil that was exposed.

It created length of traffic to a promise land but I thought I was a free soul in a garden.

Battle of the mind or battle of the sexes ?

I seemed to be spoken into this confusing generation.

Right and wrong and miles of gray.

A shade that covers enough to leave the untruth silence because those rivals are afraid.

Untruth, inexperienced, yet deadly snake who will soon be tamed.

In the midst of all this I was told I was His prodigal daughter.

Since birth I inherited wealth unseen and non-reachable.

It was told to me as a prize possession, but never once told why the prize.

If you work hard, get an education, marry, bear children, and remain good; such reward will come to you.

As a prodigal daughter I was curious to what exactly is “good”.

If good is seen or invisible?

Is good joyful or painful?

Is good a short ride or a long flight?

Is good black and white ?

So for a second he thought, you must fail at everything to see what is good?

He, who was he ?

Quickly I notice that he was a thief that my reckless life was being guided by.

If I had everything life should have just begun.

Yet I find myself working harder to keep what’s mines because mines will soon be gone.

Each failure became a new level of oppression.

Words untold yet words released.

Who should I run to that will understand each foot step I provoked.

For I have run out of options that I was able to fail.

Is failure good?

Is failure bad?

Who should correct me?

Let’s trace back my steps….

I provoked failure with each step.

I worked hard to save what’s mines.

I found a thief on the way that left me astray.

I failed at everything yet discover there is more.

I saw real and lies.

I saw shortcuts and back roads.

I felt bittersweet emotions.

And the invisible very visible.

Who corrected me?

Harden heart with living bones.

Or dead bones resurrecting with an intense blood flow.

Who corrected me?

I have worked hard, bear children, married, and received an education.

Did my disorder ordered me correct?

Was my reward finding bridges that were yet not builded?

An inheritance of courage and a big bag of change.

In the midst of all this He knew my name.

He collided two souls to explode His furiously love.

Shades of gray now separated between life and death.

Spoken into a confusing generation, where the battle of minds and sexes reach no garden or land; but continue building their own fences.

Causing themselves to sit in their own grave.

No longer bones that ache but bones that stand firm.

A tree of knowledge that remained intoxicated for those who ran with their own wisdom; disguising it all with power.

Who did I stem from that corrected my wrongs?

The chains that were tightly put are now loose, soon to break.

I was taken out of man, now who is the man I belong to?

I’m His prodigal daughter on who he waited for while he corrected me.

Once I found his presences he encountered mines.

He celebrated my return while he embraced my mistakes.

For all that he spoke he knew will prevail, regardless of all the dead ends that his cross broke down to spare.

He lead the way knowing I will soon see how lost I was and had no choice but to stand firm or remain astray.

He allowed the enemy to remind me how lonely lonely can be.

That I retraced my steps and on the way found the real living King.

I am the prodigal daughter.