Tag: poem

vagabondprophet:

Carried by the Wind

If you bleed out

Of all our veins,

I’ll still see you

In every drop that rains.

We can fill almost anything

Except this hole inside,

But I filled it once before

I filled it with the tide.

We go nowhere fast

Our swings don’t meet your pars.

I get farther than before

When I look unto your stars.

Our hearts are filled with sorrows

We sing songs of glee,

I find comfort in the rising waves

Of your endless see.

Our roots go so shallow

And we still think we’re ready,

The roots of your trees deeper

They are far more steady.

I find solace in an island

Under the burning sun,

It says I can survive

That there is hope in one.

When I see clouds approaching

I don’t know what they’re bringing

But I know you’ve sent them

To stop my ears ringing.

I looked at these mountains

And to me they have spoken,

They said you’re unshakeable

That you can’t be broken.

With our legs we run and trip

And get our knees skinned,

If we could just stop trying

We’d be carried by your wind.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Another really old one from ten years ago that I found in an old journal. That’s the last oldie I promise.

vagabondprophet:

Balsa Wood

If I could remake you

Out of balsa wood

Would I?

You’d be lighter

Yet strong,

Easily take flight.

The wind would push

Against your wings

And caress your face.

Ascension, descension,

Thrown by the carelessness

Of the air and the sky.

Letting every splinter

Alter your course,

Dancing on the map.

Would you even return,

Fight the current

To come back to me.

I see you in the flesh

And swear

You’re something better

Could I set you free?

Free of the land

And free of me.

Knots and imperfections

Same as now,

But you would fly.

You belong

High above me,

A distant speck.

I can’t make this choice

I’m selfish in my love,

What say You?

Wind filled wingspan?

Or me, simply me,

Pink tongue, white teeth.

I’ll be yours

To hold and kiss,

To wriggle against.

I know it’s a poor choice.

I’ve always ruffled

One too many feathers.

So which is it?

The clouds,

Cotton and dewy.

Or me, simply me

I’ll hold you close

And love you tenderly.

If you wish

I’ll remake you

Out of balsa wood

But know that if

The gale proves too much,

You may return to me

I’d make you safe again

Peeling back every ring

Of that lovely balsa wood.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Slave

You said you were a stranger

But you said it so friendly that I didn’t quite believe you at first.

You offered me a bottle

When you saw that I was panting,

clearly dieing of thirst.

I eyed it with suspicion

And you spoke unto me,

“It’s a long long way I’ve marched,

thirst has no respect for drought,

And I know your throat is parched.”

I took a deep draft

Like a fool

Really daft

And I’m pretty sure I’m suffering now

Went down sweeter than love

Now tremors are gripping me like a glove.

“Take my money take my money

make this all go away,

Take my money take my money

Make this come to an end.”

With a deep deep laugh you Chuckled and spat,

“Not your money but your life!  Your blood your soul your heart, that’s what I wanted, that’s what I wanted from the start”

I want everything, everything, everything that makes you you.

Eviscerated violated taken to the grave.

That’s what I want,  I want a slave

You never once said no,

You never once said go,

You’re conviction ain’t consistent

You were far from resistant.

Maybe next time you’ll arm yourself against all your favourite tastes and smells

Or you may find yourself on tour in the deepest depths of hell.

I want everything, everything, everything that makes you you.

Eviscerated violated taken to the grave.

That’s what I want,  I want a slave

I woke up panting

you step into the mirror,

Took a deep bow and then you said,

“If this isn’t want you wanted

Well then you won’t be haunted

But if I’m honest I think that you will be.”

– Vagabond Prophet

– First song I’ve written in about five years.

Another Scotch

vagabondprophet:

When the little hand hits twelve

On the face of my watch,

I’ll get off this chair

And pour another scotch.

Yellow and sweet

In a vicious kind of way,

Taking down fences

Ferrel words at end of day.

In the morning it’s coffee

I’ll be electrically afflicted

I bounce between these tonics

When my words are constricted.

The right words never come

My mind held on a scale,

Swatted like a horsefly

Tossed by the gale.

Buzzing energetic,

All business and astute,

Or brilliant in my torpor

But wordless as a brute.

This erratic crazed ballet

Doesn’t really help,

Should make better choices,

Kale, beets, and kelp

If my habits are nonsensical

If you could call me crazy,

I’m halfway to genius

At least I’m not lazy.

– Vagabond Prophet

          – Not going to lie, I was trying to write something else and it wasn’t working so I wrote this about writers block..

vagabondprophet:

Unenlightening

I can hear it off the eaves

Drip drip drip.

Distant coyotes,

Yip yip yip.

The darkness and fog

Combine and decide,

Unenlightening.

Tonight we unenlighten.

The rain comes quicker

And thicker than before,

Making soil so fertile

As to be barren.

One dewy drop

Says to another,

“We’re so heavy, full of wet,

Tonight let’s unenlighten.”

That’s when I start to feel,

Along with tobacco smoke

Swirling in my mind,

I’m being unenlightened.

Flipping through your pages

Traditions get unraveled.

With your gold gilded edges,

The unenlightening is frightening.

Contradicting every wisdom

That I’ve ever known.

You put your trust in vagrants,

Rather than royalty.

You talked to strangers

Befriended cheats,

Trusted prostitutes,

Beguiling in the streets.

So I’ll do it I’ll commit,

To break the mold,

To be an idiot,

To become unenlightened.

Rain’s just pouring now,

I’ve just learned up is down,

Meaning we’re all drowning.

I’m the only one who knows.

Thank God for unenlightening.

– Vagabond Prophet

 The sun comes over the hills, carving the entire skyline in an instant with artists precision. 

Unreasonable faith says it will be the same as yesterday.

I believe it too.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Why should the past ensure the future?

All this wrestles uneasily, in my bones creating doubt.

Yet the sky remains the same.

Vagabond Prophet