Embroidered

Many words I’ve written for thee

Deeds done and songs sung.

Six years ago you came

I remember it so clearly

Your blood was too sweet for safety

That it had to be diluted

And your mother

Looking smaller and stronger

Than ever before

Stumbling to feed you.

The pain in her face

Overcome by the joy

At seeing you expect her

Her soft touch and her smell

Her sound and her warmth.

That just by being herself

She could bring you comfort,

Eased all the pain of your coming.

Now from baring you into the world

Your mother now has scars

That she wears proudly,

As though embroidered with pride.

So many days ago,

So many spills and fevers and tears,

And each one is such a treasure.

My clever curly boy,

Young storyteller in the making,

Thank you for teaching me

That the most important thing I’ll ever do

Is be a loving dad for you.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry for our boy on his birthday.

This Obscure Chasm

Where my skin ends

And your breath begins

And this obscure chasm

In between where the magic lives.

The magic we claim

When the distance we shatter

With the urgency of affection

When my bad breath didn’t matter.

What does ten years

Of happiness look like?

Smile lines and stretch marks

Scars and hair gone thin

With weariness and worry,

Unshaven legs in winter

Tangled into mine,

And hatchets I won’t bury.

For no quarrels with your laurels

For me to drive a stake,

Only hands to hold

Only dreams to pave a road for.

And if you should lose your mind

If the woman I know and love

Dies behind your eyes

I’ll love you like the night sky

Like a star long gone

That my eyes

Won’t stop believing in.

– Vagabond Prophet

For @delightfulharmonypoetry , heres to many more years darling.

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “This Obscure Chasm.

Open Wound

I’m kind of prickly always have been,

How do I keep you safe

And love you at the same time?

After the open wound

Of new love scabs over

With the clots of commitment

We’ll be thicker skinned

And my spikes will be thinned.

Though I am committed

I’m still an open wound,

How about you?

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Fruits of the Spirit #7

Love as defined by the poets dictionary:

Definition: Love allows for this break in style.

Of love we the poets agree to say little

Of love we the poets agree to say much,

For it stifles the verbose

And makes garrulous

Those wonderful few who are traditionally

Iconically

Ironically

Laconic.

It’s big ideas from small minds, still better than all the complacency of the brilliant.

It’s the ink in this pen, only being itself no matter where it’s placed.

Love is the guerilla act of kindness

In minefield valleys, and stormy mountains.

It is love that perished in an act

Of veil tearing demonstration

That love and justice need each other

To be themselves.

In the dying of love, death was defeated, how lovely.

Love is the adhesive property, holding my cells together.

Love always extends the helping hand,

Not caring how barbarous the individual in need may be.

Love holds two souls together in affection, adoration, and commitment.

Love blots out ones tears with tender lips.

Antonyms: Hatred, fear, self preservation at the cost of others well being.

Only love inflates the space between the words, to remind you your story will stay afloat.

– Vagabond Prophet

– That’s me finished, @mildreflections it’s all yours now pal.