By Rote

This is exhaustion

This is where my mind hibernates

And my arms and legs

By rote accomplish much.

No path less traveled

Was ever tread by rote

No trails blazed by bravery

Ever made half aware.

Shock me with lightning

Make my smile frightening

Scatter the bones of the strong

Into the soil of the weak,

Inferior they rise

With nobody paying any mind.

With banners high

And sharpened spears

Remembering the pain

Throughout all the years.

Though these thoughts may abate

My soul I prostrate

Riddle me with tumors

Spread vicious rumors

Leave me torn asunder

From every past blunder.

– Vagabond Prophet

Volunteer

A volunteer from the crowd now

Step behind the shroud now

While I run you through

With steely knives.

It is plainly murder

But the crowd goes wild

As long as bright red smile

Is painted on the face.

Stay your quarrelsome tongue

While this logic you’ve clung

Listens to my explanation.

In any other scenario

You’d demand my blood too

But when I’m on the stage

And you’re in your chair

I make the rules

Understand?

– Vagabond Prophet

Okay that was weird. Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “in any other scenario.” Really don’t know where this came from…

Myopic Quest

Running on the pier looking down

The gaps between boards

Like a cartoon flip book

Of shells and tides,

Sand and hills

Of seaweed and salt,

I speed past with curious

And quick steps.

I want to be grown!

Where my long legs can close the distance

Between myself and my longing

What’s the ending of this book

That unravels with each stride?

Now in pitch black mornings

Only lights come from

The neighbours kitchen,

She’s too early getting ready

For a lonely commute

Thick with too many

Other lonely commuters.

And so am I.

Now I want to be a child again

To have the freedom

To speculate every step,

Instead of insuring my marching

Is in time with the others.

Though these scenes juxtapose

I spray both with a hose

For now I know best

In this myopic quest,

The answer is devotion

Love and intention

The grass is greenest

On the side it gets watered.

– Vagabond Prophet

Hey @josy57 ! Yeah you, thanks for the prompt ‘myopic quest,’ I enjoyed this.

907rebelqueen:

“When you stumble, it doesn’t mean you’ll fall.
When you crack, it doesn’t mean you’ll shatter.
When you hurt, it doesn’t mean you’ll die.
But –
If you do fall, rise again.
If you do shatter, mend stronger.
And if you do die, resurrect with hell behind you.”

— Of Blood & Ink

Awesome!

Kernels

What good can come

From his habit of sleeplessness?

Is this your question,

Friend that ones easy.

It’s true summer is defeated

By the frozen blows of winter

Yet winter begets spring.

The ore scorched by fire

And beaten by the hammer

Turns into brilliant jewelry.

All my hobbies and interests

All of my leisure and yard work

Put on the bottom shelf

Just for a time.

This brief opportunity

To affect change in the lives

Of desperate children

With no place to rest their head,

Is worth every minute of rest

That I put to death on the altar

Of servitude.

Are you sure? Is it working?

Do your yawns create some virtue

Does your unrested mind

Really get any good work done?

You queried

Arms crossed

Smirk pulled up high

Like a flag on holiday.

In midwestern climate

Can you trust good weather

Long enough to shed

Your cynical husk?

The sunrise is majestic

Whether I’m waking

Or not yet found my bed.

It is brilliance like this

I was made to reflect

And my silver mind

Pounded into mirror

By this bludgeoning war

Of attrition will serve me well.

I care not for

The scathing mockery

For I know that through strife

I may find

The unpopped kernels

Of my genius.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 Thank you for the prompt “On the bottom shelf” I enjoyed that.

vagabondprophet:

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Okay people. Going to be up all night again. Company is appreciated.

– Vagabond Prophet

Talk to me, join me on my journey of exhaustion.

Yup. One more time this week! Talk to me.

Mhmmmm

Please, join me in my nighttime wakefulness.

I am a crazy person and will not be sleeping tonight again. Anybody in the same boat?

If nobody comes along, it’s okay I’m prepared.

Another night shift. Any company is welcome!

Stealing Flowers


I heard tales of you

From woefully unreliable sources

Who poured their propaganda

Like concrete,

Hoping to build a foundation

For themselves.

Lips on the inside

Teeth on the outside

You’d always bite

Before you’d kiss.

This is what I was told.

Now I listened to my friends

But kept a spark of doubt,

Upon meeting you

I was made to breath heavy

And fan it into flame.

Since then the fire

Has taken many forms,

Like traversing the town on foot

To see you for thirty minutes.

Like stealing the cities

Entire supply of yellow flowers

To brighten your grey workplace.

Like shade

Saving in summer

Yet deadly in winter,

Your smile careened

Through my heart.

Leaving mailboxes tipped

And street signs turned around

Now unsure if I’m driving

Too fast or too slow

But it’s towards you

So I push my foot down.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry