The swine were his tablemates.
How long was he obdurate?
How long adamant?
How long did sensualism's empty husks
feed him and leave him yearning?
Did he know the emptiness?
Did he understand the void within?
Not at first.
But later
oh, later!
Truth, not time,
lifted him,
when he was willing—
ready to let go of nothingness.
The once-bright ashes sifted to earth.
He rose—awakened, freed!
He was filled with the feast
his father had prepared,
And he was satisfied.
