The Prodigal Son

Silence frustrates your prodigal sons returning to a shut door a bosom, left outside your chambered—bullion their names worth remain still a misnomer? Through a keyhole, they see chinks of light yet-where, there's a protruding key that light disintegrates out of sight out of view, that's how it is with you. Don't get me, wrong we look for an entrance we want to lodge open our syncretic eyes collapse any walls and inherit your skies. In the near future, we'll have descendants locked vaulted in tombs to be opened but yet there you are, Father a keyhole a chick of light never eroded radiantly gold, waiting for us to behold.