Prompt Day 15

In some cultures legends

The killing blow of a previous life.

Some say stork bites, other say nothing at all.

My father, myself, my son and daughter

All have the same one.

Strawberry stain on the neck.

Were we rebels in France

And all got the guillotine?

Or all facing firing squads

For crimes against the crown?

I can hide it with my hair

But of the truth I am aware,

I see it in everything

Even in this birthmark.

I am a blemished and imperfect sacrifice

And you, you were perfect lacking nothing

And took upon yourself, every killing blow.

– Vagabond Prophet

I’ve no sense of direction
You provide me with wind to find my way
Holding wet fingers up high following your breath.

All sound is born from silence
And you created both.
Only you could dash me to pieces
And have it somehow leave me whole.

Vagabond Prophet

Days of Candy

derelictdirigible:

We built castles

Out of corduroy overalls

And Popsicle sticks.

Our fingers sticky

And our knees grass-stained,

As we plotted adventures

In clouded shapes.

Our stuffed animals sat at attention

As a jury of peers,

While picture books were smudged

With jelly fingered smears.

Everything was new then

And the world seemed so giant.

Who would have guessed

 That it was really quite small.

But in my mind it’s still

A great expanse.

Where days are longer,

And castles are built

Out of 

Sidewalk chalk

And dandelion seeds.

-derelictdirigible 

Love this.

Atlas

An Atlas problem, back once broken

Beneath the gravity of everything,

One came and took my burden

The crushing load of life and sadness and sin.

You took it and took it so well,

No more world upon my back!

My hope begins to wax,

Yet my spine still slopes

It may take time, more than this lifetime

For my body to straighten.

I still find that boredom breeds only treachery,

In the serfdom of my heart

The beggars still start riots,

However bigger and above and transcendent!

By your melodies I escaped the weight of tragedy,

And in your sanctuary I’ll bend back to shape.

In your joy you’ll quiet this mutineers heart.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 13

Most peoples rituals?

Buttoning top to bottom,

Pizza on Fridays.

My rituals?

Bombarding those I know

With preposterous queries.

It’s just what’s in this mind

That wants out.

What colour is your letter A?

What colour is your imaginary dragon?

Rather have horns or a tail?

Favourite food ethnicity?

Rather be deaf or blind?

Rather freeze or burn to death?

I grow weary of small talk

I find it just so little.

I want to learn what shapes

A person’s thoughts

And which hilltop

Their compass says is north.

Make your thoughts work

Make one nerve ending stretch

To unknown territory to reach the next

Unusual shapes just to bridge that gap.

Learn your favourite word in nineteen languages.

Don’t be a lazy suzan,

Spinning the same ideas round and round.

I bore of the weather,

I bore of sports.

But to discuss something

Never discussed before

That just might interest.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Bonus points for anybody who answers those questions for me, I think my co-workers are getting tired of me pestering them.