I’m not righting
About the write things
It’ll take courage
I need to dig for.
Things inside covered
Under lock and key,
I got a glimpse last week
It nearly smothered me.
Strangled, driven to tears
By the sorrow in myself.
Key broke off in the lock
No going back now.
Maybe that’s why
I’ve many empty journals,
Pages waiting to give shape
To things I’m unwilling to admit.
Stagnant water feeds nothing
I’ll never grow like this,
I’ll age in a day
An unnaturally creased child.
So please grant me bravery
To look into the mirror
And see what’s really there
Smoke pouring from a closed off room.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 