The Son of the Father

He was 11 years old. He grew up in a foster home. He had no guidance or direction. Never learned what was parental affection. He did know aggression.

He was regularly used and abused. What could he do? He started numbing his pain by smoking cocaine. He harbored much disdain for the man that was at the root of his pain. He never told any one of his shame. He was never quite the same.

He never knew kindness or love. He was befriended by a neighborhood thug. He schooled him on ghetto ways. He taught him how to handle a gun. He said, “son, you're young and one day you’ll have to point a gun.”

As he lay on the floor, which was his bed. The root of all evil walks in and insists on head. He pulls out his peace and puts him to sleep.

He’s on the loose. He figures he has nothing to lose. He’s on the run. He’s got his gun. The only one he trusts.

 He takes a hit from the pipe to give him the courage he needs. He feels only misery. He takes his piece and decides to set himself free.

He reaches heaven’s gate where the Holy Father waits. He forgives his son. Holy Father shows him love. The only man he’ll ever trust.