The father doesn’t give the son
a stone for bread, so why
all these stones, these chipped teeth?
Why this gnawing hunger?

The father doesn’t give the son a stone,
so why, father to son,
down all these generations  –
all these walls, all this rubble?

Picking up the pieces, looking,
distractedly, for something
that would lock this life together,
a lodestone, a keystone,
an ancient way

The father loves the son,
but how is this made known?
How do the living rays of Truth
that shine through consciousness
reveal this longed-for bond?

They are the knowing.
Sit in the shade of this great Rock
and share the feast.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 6,  2021