Tag: blotchedpoems

Escapee

I am the foolhardy child

Who ran from the safehouse

To the hands of my accuser.

Escapee fleeing my own freedom.

You pursued me relentlessly

Like the sun the moon,

Saying you’d take me

Ignoring all scars

You’d not reject me

Until the shore rejects the waves.

You won me over

Under a clear sky

Using stars always there

To paint new pictures just for me.

Now in the heat of the night

I whisper the truth under

Moth laden lanterns

To others lost as I once was.

That you took my place

In a risk that made heaven

Hold its breath

To erase my coming death.

– Vagabond Prophet

Letters Unsent

You began to grow hazy

At the edge of my memory,

Sharpening your knife

On the spinning wheel of my mind.

You took my foggy view

Folding to make some clarity

Shouting words unkind

About different timelines unexplored

Involving strange knots in ropes

Involving headstones with your name.

I lied to you that day,

Left letters unsent, clinging to my tongue

Like bungee jumpers that

Can’t trust the harness won’t

Stretch into oblivion.

I was so shaken by your absence

I couldn’t tell you the truth

So I said nothing at all for months.

I left letters unsent

Words blurred on tear soaked pages.

I grew past you in a year

Like a bamboo grows past an oak,

Me young and strong, sprouting suddenly

You old and creased and resonating

Of my childhood forests

Where we’d collect the biggest leaves.

Now I can see you were

Marred from the start

With regrets running so deep

As to be confused with roots.

You were small and passionate

And you made human mistakes,

I’m strong now,

Like a plant forced to climb

The cracks in the sidewalk.

Stronger for it

And marked by it.

The letters are burned now

And we can embrace again

Though I still get confused

Whether I’m looking up at you

Down at you

Or if we’re at last on level ground.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “letters unsent.”

Brushfire

Your mother said I wasn’t right

Not serious enough,

Now we laugh until we’re pink

Thinking of being with anyone else.

Resonating something deep inside me

I didn’t even know needed vibration.

I was kindling

You were a match

Together we’re a brushfire.

Burning and spreading until

Our love insisted on having

Skin of its own.

Now you’re a mother

And I’m a father

And together

We are the stewards

Of the miraculous.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Bang the Drum

I bang the drum just with my thumb

Till the knuckles gone numb,

Both the drum skin and mine hurting

And better for it.

Safety never inspired

Any marching orders,

Calm seas never filled

Any sails,

And the pursuit of safety

Never protected the innocent.

Denatured eggs turn white with heat

And in turn give me strength.

Ironic that to spread some hope

I need to scratch out my doubt,

Burn away with love something

Terrible but naturally part of me.

Ironic not like the boss cracking jokes

While firing you,

Ironic like a vaccination scar

That resilience should be marked by harm.

Fight your nature,

Fight the cancer that makes

You cower in the night

And walk past the hungry.

Wrestle and arrest

The thoughts that push you

To hurt just out of curiosity,

Like thieves lacking nothing

Only doing it for sport.

Don’t be so alarmed when good news

Threatens your way of life

It only seeks to remind you

It’s always been a way of death.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57  for the prompt “denatured.” It’s always a joy.

Return to Sender

I opened the letter as it arrived

Hoping it would buoy her spirits

And diminish the long shadows ahead

Only to find the screen displaying

A line flatter than a prairie.

The code blue was issued

And skilled men and women

Sprang into action

Making the bed springs squeak

Their emergency made plain.

I should be used to this by now,

Death is part of every life,

Irony is cruel sometimes,

Just like the irony of a body bag

That insists on sterile packaging.

As though the dead would complain

About the cleanliness of

Their final sleep.

The medicine we needed

Not found in this world,

Now here we are hoping

She can still find it somehow

The fountains of joy

And streams of love

No doctor can prescribe.

I am sorry but I must

Return this to sender

For the woman in my care

Has died this afternoon.

A letter from one heart

To another no longer beating.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “The medicine we need”

There’s me
And then there’s you
And all I want to do
Is climb into your heart
To make in me a fresh start.

Dissolve like sugar
In those warm cleansing waters
No longer able to discern
Where I end and you begin.

Vagabond Prophet

Hurricane

I don’t believe in true love

Or in soulmates

But I know what happened to me

And I believe in  addiction.

You did not screech or beseech

With kissable lips

And raised eyebrow

With clever fingers set your snare.

I was yours.

You hooked me

With the efficiency of a hurricane,

I became forever yours.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry