Danetta Barney

The trodden path lights the way
as a night watchman on duty,
faithfully committed to the task

on high alert for the slightest
movement, a glimmer, gesture,
a shuffle of tired feet

a faint whimper from thirsty lips,
a dry throat that struggles
to swallow its own selfish
pride and shame.

In the distance afar off
the oil lamp illuminates
to make heads or tails
of midnight shadows.

A sight for sore eyes, strains
to see, limps and injuries,
as wounded souls stir about.

The prodigal embrace never weary
of the burden it carries. Breaks
its back, shifts its load, takes
an agonizing deep breath

nearly crashes and burns
but angels are given a
charge to cushion its sorrow.

The dusty road
lights the pathway back

where a hundred fathers´
tearful eyes peer

grateful for the road
that leads sons home.