Original Poetry about anything and everything.
They don’t tell you
The further down you go
The worse the chance
Of your coming back.
The top is just white collars,
The middle chemotherapy
But the bottom
Oh the bottom.
That’s for the radiation patients,
Level Zero
It’s even underground,
I guess to get them used to it.
– Vagabond Prophet
Walking through a hospital parking lot
Perfect white lines outside an imperfect building.
Mercedes to my left
Rusty van to my right.
All that separation
Dissolves on the threshold
When you peruse the catalogue
Of dying people inside.
Your wife,
His sister,
You both drove here
To weep over loved ones.
If the vehicle doesn’t matter
If your class doesn’t matter
If grief is level ground
Then can we all be family?
– Vagabond Prophet
There was no trail
No sound or cry.
Just a few drops on the floor
Not knowing man woman or child.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
Was that all the blood you had to give?
Did the ground open up and drink the rest entirely?
Just give me a sign
That everything is okay,
I worry about you
You anonymous bleeder you.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 