Going prodigal

No fucking way
the lost son is coming back
he has found a weeping tree with a coolest shade
bed of green grass with a solitary flower of hope
plant of stunning beauty and smell

it tells him:

” Look son,
everything will be OK.
Sins can be washed off with a sudden rain and these clouds…
these clouds will soon break into little droplets of Heaven.
Forget limbo of purgatory or torments of hell.
Everything will be forgiven to brethren.”

After it is done talking,
it sighs glancing at him sleeping
in the shade of the silent tree

the lost son has an attention span
of a firefly
it is brilliant how he shines
for the shortest vehicles of time that take him
places of no regret and no sorrow

imagine
last night he even dreamed
his father died
so mother nature took care of his feelings of guilt and waste
and he now loves being the lost son
broke
alone
who threw away his phone
fate
and chip
not a significant source
of happiness