Waiting For the Return

The earth is molten in the fire.
Returning to the lava underneath the hills where it was born.

15 full years it's been since you've left,
renegading into the wild world, pioneering a new tide of power.
Had your soul fallen prey to the wild hungry beasts
eager to devour your young mind
to prolong their insanity?
Did you stare them down, hold on to your own?
or had you meekly succumbed?
I tried in vain to hold tight the reins on this green filly,
tried to arm you with more wisdom before letting go.
But like the young, impulsive fool you are,
you threw yourself headlong into the storm.

10 full years it's been since I've heard the last of you.
I wonder if you're any wiser.
I wonder if you're wounded. Or how deep you're involved. Or how broken you are.
I wonder if you're still alive.
I wonder if the young filly is finally tired out,
and gets it into its stubborn head to find a place to settle down.
I wonder if it's smart enough to find its way home.
And I wonder if you had ever realised
that this was once your home, too,
that I've been waiting for your return,
even if it's just because you need me to help sort out your problems.
I pray only that your young spirit is unbroken,
that the fire in your eyes is undiminished,
that the matured stallion still retains the raw energy of youth inside itself minus the reckless folly of youth.

The earth is molten in the fire,
like the prodigal son who finally recognises his way home.