Real Rainbow

I’ve known anger burning red

And despair oh so blue,

Envy green and cowardice yellow.

I’ve had my countenance turn black

Under a sky of grey

A real rainbow of disdain.

I am not lazy or sloth like as of late,

Come here touch my brow

And feel the residue of my toil

That brings me naught but rot.

Until you came into my life

Breaking dams that held nothing in only out

Flooding dry lake beds

And sprouting gardens where there was dust.

Because of your works not mine

I can call myself justified in time,

A second hand treasure

Better than anything wrought

By these calloused hands.

You can still feel the sweat on my body

See it drip onto a brown soil

Watch me work a land green and budding

See the sun set red

And rise brightest yellow.

I can push off into a vast blue sea

And not care if I sail or get swallowed

For both is to be loved.

You’ve carried me in your shadow of light

Through the deepest blacks

Protected by your majesty

Into a brand new country

With brand new colours

A real rainbow of joy.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “Second Hand Treasures.”

Silenced

mildreflections:

I was silenced when I realized,

Screams in this world vanquish

Faster than candles against winds.

Quietened,

When it dawned upon me

That to stop a fight,

Means to sometimes take a hit.

Stymied,

When I grew up to understand

That win or lose doesn’t matter was just a myth.

And consolation prizes were stuff of fairy tales.

Stopped,

When I realized it took longer runs to achieve dreams,

And shorter to just be,

What the world wants me to be.

And I gave up after a single cry,

Because there was never time,

For second tries.

I choked on truths,

Because lies were easier to swallow.

And did it until,

They were heavy enough,

And I was no longer hollow.

I forgot to laugh,

Because sorrow was more comforting.

And put up walls,

Because I was told,

People could be destructive.

Became cold,

Because love was too difficult.

And easy relationships,

Was hoping for miracles.

So you see,

I was not always a silent person.

The end of my voice came,

With every little breakthrough in life.

When I realized the infinite pains

Of an enormous universe,

And then reflected upon my minute size.

                                 – Mild Reflections

Thanks you @vagabondprophet for prompting @josy57 and I with ‘at the end of your voice’. I hope you this is fine.

88

vagabondprophet:

I sailed across the sea

Just daughters wife and me,

Took to the fields.

Fled a career

Building boxes for the dead,

It was killing me.

The culture around

As barren as the land

So I collected eighty eight keys.

The girls needed melodies,

And harmonies to dance to,

Maybe I did too.

Improving life

By risking it,

Maybe that boldness

Runs in the blood.

We all got thin that winter

But our minds ran thick

With music enriching.

I’d do it all again,

Trade my bacon for a duet,

And my ham for a ballad.

When coins slipped away

I brought the sow to town,

And traded her for music.

Worth it,

Every note.

– Vagabond Prophet

– In my dining room sitting to my left right now, is a piano that my great grandfather bought for his daughters after moving to Canada. He wanted music to be a part of their lives. He was making payments on it until he couldn’t, he decided trading their pig in to settle the debt was worth it. I don’t even know what they ate that winter.

Capsizing

In throes of deepest admiration

My heart cracking like lines in pavement,

Overwhelmed to the point of capsizing

As I behold my beloved,

No recesses of firmament

Not present in her gaze.

My pinion pinched and unwieldy

No longer can I sojourn

To the celestial region

So you saw fit

To place in her lissome form

All the beauty of the heavens.

She in state of repose,

Words always kind and sweet

Never besmirch, belittle, or cause harm

To this brittle soul of mine.

I beseech you have mercy on me

The third son of a third son

Of a man with just one eye.

Me I’ve got both,

But it won’t be enough

For my rods and cones

To comprehend her majesty.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Undaunted

These mornings are still cool

While afternoons with heat

Make me perspire into the night.

What can I don

For this time between seasons?

Much the same as

The pains of destiny.

Knowing I’m for the next world

Yet under orders to toil here

To prepare the land and hearts.

For both predicaments

Will take much patience

A period of suffering

And a measure of courage

To look the end of time in the eye

Yet remain undaunted,

Though still perspiring into the night.

– Vagabond Prophet

Turned to Stone

What if all the poems

Do  nothing at all

If I’ve wasted all my time

Sacrificed my sleep

On the altar of art

And it just turns to stone.

Letting my heart unwind

One stanza at a time

Pointlessly.

Without irrigating something good

Or making clear

Something misunderstood.

Oh I pray that I

Can affect real change.

Take my ramblings

To untie lies in others

And inspire courage,  kindness

And all things good and just.

– Vagabond Prophet

Night Sky Conservatory


Do you remember the night sky conservatory?

The time we picked the lock at the gate

Snuck in after dark?

So innocent we felt like criminals.

Little did we know we were stealing

Each other’s hearts.

Do you remember the blanket I spread out

Beneath the stars that slowly revealed themselves

One constellation at a time?

Learning that darkness and light

Can really coexist quite beautifully,

Each gaining significance from the other.

Do you remember the bats

Scattering their silhouettes

Across our unhindered gaze?

Do you remember the creature

Moving not far away?

Do you wonder as I do,

If it was our budding affection manifest

To warn us we were falling?

Do you remember when you said,

“That was my first kiss”

And your very words

Altered my body chemistry?

Do you remember from all the years gone by

Amidst the tangled breaths and foggy windows,

All the vapours of pleasure

Turning into solid child?

How could I not believe in magic

When what I’ve known with you

Is the opposite of tragic?

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry