Waiting for the clouds to split wide open, release their payload and wash me clean.
– Vagabond Prophet
Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Waiting for the clouds to split wide open, release their payload and wash me clean.
– Vagabond Prophet
Empty lot sitting for years
Used to have a house
Full of broken people.
Now it’s jubilee!
Earth has reclaimed it
Swallowed up concrete
With thorns and leaves and grass.
No policy or strategy
Could do a better job,
To restore a bit of peace
To a hurting part of town.
– Vagabond Prophet
Moon sliver hanging bright
A fingernail in the night,
Scratch away my surface
So we can bleed into one another.
Let’s make some changes
Can we get rid of borders
Guns and money?
I feel panic slip in
The fissures between thoughts.
Numbers on a spreadsheet,
My exactly lacking worth.
That’s what I fear
Not bears or cancer.
Numbers only tell me
How much I can’t give
To the hungry and alone.
So take down borders
Let the people come
I’ll feed them all
With infinite wealth.
Ignorance might not be bliss
But it just may fill a mouth.
– Vagabond Prophet
Eyes aren’t yet focused
Every street light
Has a halo
I walk to the stop
Guided by angels.
– Vagabond Prophet
I sit here at the keyboard every night, just trying to pour out every last drop of the day.
How can I be happy
With the world at large?
I know better,
I’ve seen the box
This puzzle came with,
Have you?
Pieces scattered everywhere,
People mistaking blue backing
For sky.
Newspapers for clouds,
Writing on the wall
For anything but
Writing on the wall.
– Vagabond Prophet
Person 1: “Why are you always hugging me?”
Person 2:” A teacher once told me that you can’t weld anything together except metal. I just really want to prove them wrong.”
– Vagabond Prophet
When I was just a lad
I used to sleep outside.
I’d shut the door on my bedroom
Walk out to the backyard.
Sleep there all night long,
All year long,
After dad left
It was the only way I knew
To be closer
To that different better father.
Rain or shine
You still called me “mine.”
– Vagabond Prophet
The worst part about losing your hair is feeling the wind blow through it and wondering if it’ll be the last time.
Vagabond Prophet