Kamikaze

I have no blood

I have no heart

Only a red sea in my chest

Tide in highs and lows

Every single second

At the beckoning of a moon

Behind the very sky.

Pulled by things unseen

Plucking feathers clean

Pruning vanity clipping pride

Silencing remarks so snide.

In the end I’ll be a nomad

Walking ever inland

To where the gardens grow

I’ll have no grass to mow

Only seeds to sow.

Come with me

Come one come all

Untie the dreams safely moored

Let them risk open waters

And swift unseen currents.

Be swept away by the music

That’s played in the background

Of your dreams.

Be the kamikaze 

That forgot to say goodbye

Overwhelmed by the importance

Of the task at hand.

– Vagabond Prophet

Unleavened

You can crush me you can mold me

You can tuck and fold me

Draw me taught or leave me wrinkled

Letting time spread its ripples

To each and every shore.

Leave me flat or by grace let

The wind impart a trace of wild yeast

To this unleavened soul

That I may rise.

– Vagabond Prophet

Ebb and Flow

Welcome to the ebb and flow

To the sporadic spells of rain,

To the workload that swells to meet

Your well rested vigor.

Good day to the hat

You only notice in its absence

Hello to the fireworks

Hope exploding for a future

Less volatile than the past.

Welcome to the ebb and flow

Of weather that scalds and chills

In the same day.

To the violin bringing

Tears of joy and sadness

In the same melody.

Greetings to the planet

Where hearts of men prevail

And the only chance at redemption

Lies outside the world altogether.

– Vagabond Prophet

Fuego

I am the fire burning in your heart.

Not a flickering spark

Not cooling embers from a night

With no embrace.

I am the blazing fury of the sun

And the sun itself,

Burning just for you,

Come now for we embark

Upon the path to become

A flaming tendril yourself.

– Vagabond Prophet

mildreflections:

Angel

How big were your beautiful wings?

How young was my soul?

You wrapped me in a sweet embrace,

And I didn’t realize the world could be foul.

I grew up believing,

The stories you fed me for sleep.

Tales of magical creatures,

Lives of ruthless kings and sweet queens.

I was blinded by your love,

So I wasn’t ready to see,

When your feathers fell like your hair,

And the needles scarred your skin.

Drilling to tatters,

Your seamless wings.

When the lustrous glow of your eyes,

Was slowly poisoned by your cure.

And the brave smile that you put on,

Broke under the pain of it all.

I wasn’t prepared,

So I did not know what to say.

I hope you understood,

That I loved you every one of our counted days.

How big were your beautiful wings?

How foolish was I all along?

To not know that even angels could fall,

And someday forever be gone.

                                  – Mild Reflections

                                 ( dedicated to my mother ) 

So beautiful.

Fruits of the Spirit #3

Faithfulness as defined by the poets dictionary:

Definition: Anchors firmly dug into place, to a solid ground nobody else believes is there. Mocks and jeers go floating past as you realize the irony that nobody notices you are not swept away by torrents of madness, despair, or tragedy. Strength tempering your bones into something unrecognizable but so much stronger.

Other definitions include: The knowledge that nobody taught you that guides your every move.

The immovable convictions of a country not found in maps, content that you the amateur cartographer that you are will diligently chart it all when you get there.  

Having a song stuck in your head that you’ve never heard before, and believing that the composer is whispering in a language just for the two of you.

Antonyms include: Cynicism, refusal to separate truths from facts braided though they are, uninvested in the definitions given by the compass of your soul. Untethered as a buoy that warns of nothing.

Only faith promises that there is more to the ocean than water; all because of a dream you once had of it taking your sins out to sea and down to Davie Jones and sending back in their place salvation.

– Vagabond Prophet

@mildreflections thanks for joining me on this project! I am beyond pleased to be collaborating with such a talented poet. Hope you enjoy this addition.

Long Hours

Pen long hours in the dust of your memories,

Discern the bones from the dirt

Excavate the traumas and trophies

And see the foundation of your story.

Pen long hours in the grass of your youth,

With quills wearing feathers so dashing

With ink carve away the parts not needed

White page given meaning by its embrace with black.

Pen long hours in the forests of parenthood,

Admire and prune growth so eager

Never embarrassed or furtive

Only looking for a limb to climb.

Pen long hours in the clouds of age

Wrinkled and grey, ready to let go

Aching to rain life down into the dust

The memories of woodland creatures

Awoken by the hopeful magic of petrichor.

When the sun sets on your inkwell

And life has penned long hours on your soul

And you lay in your spiral bound coffin,

Know that a story is never wasted.

– Vagabond Prophet

Cluttered Skies

The light reaches out

Long fingers touching everything.

Hobo tents and bank roofs alike

Both glistening under

Last night’s rain.

Sky still cluttered

With the aftermath.

If the heavens do not discriminate

With their celestial perspective

Maybe we can learn something

Under cluttered skies.

– Vagabond Prophet