Tag: creative writing

Soul Mates

I used to believe

In true love and soulmates,

Now I know it false.

It’s true she’s my mate

And that she has my soul

But I chose her

And she chose me.

No accident no ‘falling in’

Like slipping in mud

Or slowly going mad.

Providence played a part

To be sure

But our choices are

What define us.

No smoky bar

Or mystic circumstance

Just she and me

Opposite sides of a dirty couch.

A choice we still

Make every day

When life is lovely

When life is ghastly.

Our couch is still stained

A reminder of our promises.

– Vagabond Prophet

How quickly I became bankrupt
In the absence of yourself,
I didn’t know until I left you forlorn
Abandoned in the far reaches of the echo
That I’d been living cup to cup
For a love now gone cold.

When I return let there yet be
Some faint embers left in which
We can partake.

Vagabond Prophet

– This is what happens when a guy like me forgets his coffee at home before work starts.

Prompt Day 18

Do you find your hope groping in the dark

Sloping and waning

While the moon is waxing?

As though all your innermost dreams

And thoughts you hold most dear

Had been paraded through the streets

With mocking and jeering and spitting.

Come with me I say

The revolution starts with us.

Our lights have been put out too often

Wicks go sizzle between The Man’s greasy fingers.

All those people with nothing to offer

But their hearts in ink dots

Or paint swaths

Or sound waves.

Get a real job! They say.

But the art in our veins,

Make life worth living

And it’s so hard to strip it off.

Like the bark of a tree

That without will surely die,

So it would be with us

If we amputate our muse.

Protect your light!

At all costs defend it!

I’ll stand by your side

I’ll have your back.

Let’s have our cake and eat it too,

We’re going to need two cakes.

At least.

At least.

At least.

As all artists know,

The bare minimum is the foundation

For something great.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 17

Gazing through polished panes

Longing after things with greatest pains,

Trying on some,

Walking past others.

Through the growth of more eyelids

You never really see at all,

You only see what you aren’t

What you lack, never what you are.

Window shopping can be fun

For the penniless and imaginative,

Don’t take appearances too seriously.

The ones who’ve never window shopped

Have the most to learn.

To have never wanted

To have never repressed your desires,

Never leaving behind something

Wished for on a whim.

What could you know of others?

What could you know of need

Or patience or gratitude

For something earned with sweat?

Whichever you are

Fortunate or less so

This last part is for you

And I’ll deliver with all the subtlety

Of an asteroid.

If you’re window shopping

Is better than your

Mirror gazing

It’s time to make some changes.

– Vagabond Prophet

Bones

My story not too tragic

Not terribly traumatic,

Except for the traumatic bit.

I’ve not known poverty

I’ve not known hunger,

I’m intelligent and able bodied.

Yet I feel as though life

Is harder than it should be

And after all these years

Jason Wade has said it best,

“I need you now

There’s too many miles on my bones

I can’t carry the weight of the world

No, not on my own”

So there it is, that terrible truth.

Nice to know I’m not the only one

Who walks with this weight

So burdensome and heavy.

Yet by the end of song there’s hope,

“No more heartache, no more fighting

No more fears, only flying”

Thanks for spinning fears into verses,

Matching my heartbeat to a drum beat

And singing it out loud

In that low gravelly voice of yours.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Quotes from the song ‘Flight’ by Lifehouse, who Jason Wade is the singer of.

Prompt Day 16

Oh you brilliant bohemian you!

To count the number of times you articulated

For me something shapeless.

Thoughts I’d had for years that evaded endlessly.

Every time I reached for them,

Slipping between fingers like smoke.

Yet you penned it in ink

Plainly for all to see.

Is that how you wrote so much?

Stealing thoughts of others

Transforming them into beauty.

The only kind of theft I’m happy to pardon.

How fitting, how terrible

That you should die, your blood turned to poison.

Your body wracked with pain

And your spirits lacked of wind.

As though life smiled on the grace of words,

And decided you’d had your fill of loveliness.

Thank you for doing it all the same,

You plagiarizer of my mind

You thief of dreams.

– Vagabond Prophet

       – For Rainer Maria Rilke