I don’t see many people these days,
There lights blind my eyes
I run and I hide.
My name is Aurora
Come north come at dark
And I’ll dance for you
Through the night.
My flowy dress twirls outwards
And my hair changes colours
You’ve never seen before.
My fingers writing stories in the sky
In a language long forgotten.
I see my face reflected
In the great lakes,
I really am radiant
And wanting to share my beauty.
I want somebody to talk to,
Somebody to sing to,
Somebody to quarrel with.
Come further north, further still
Bring no light of your own
For I’ll light our lives enough,
And you’ll only diminish me.
– Vagabond Prophet
Tag: spilled ink
X and Y
Do you remember ?
When your X found my Y
And evolved into our boy.
Does he miss me?
His daddy,
Now that the only daddy around
Is the one in the corner
With the long legs
With nobody left to kill it.
Countenance
In the countenance of today
There’s no smallest measure
Of reprieve or leisure.
The thread between
My thoughts and reactions
Growing taut from lengthening distance.
Dangling from the precipice
Which separates simple exhaustion
From madness.
People ask me
Why do I do this?
Why do I clutch to sleep deprivation
And reject wakefulness, rest,
And energy honestly come by.
I say to be creative is risky,
But to abstain is more so.
– Vagabond Prophet
Dug out my autumn jacket
For an early June day,
Maybe it wanted to hug me
Once more before my birthday
Before its dusty summer break.
Vagabond Prophet
It’s a new week
And I woke up early
Steel these hands to care
And feet to fly swiftly,
Move this Monday torpor
Into loving action
And this yawn
Into the dawn
Of words that change the world.
Vagabond Prophet
The night as brightly coloured as the day
But we’ve no eyes to see
Bringing light instead of learning
To speak darks language.
Vagabond Prophet
Real Rainbow
I’ve known anger burning red
And despair oh so blue,
Envy green and cowardice yellow.
I’ve had my countenance turn black
Under a sky of grey
A real rainbow of disdain.
I am not lazy or sloth like as of late,
Come here touch my brow
And feel the residue of my toil
That brings me naught but rot.
Until you came into my life
Breaking dams that held nothing in only out
Flooding dry lake beds
And sprouting gardens where there was dust.
Because of your works not mine
I can call myself justified in time,
A second hand treasure
Better than anything wrought
By these calloused hands.
You can still feel the sweat on my body
See it drip onto a brown soil
Watch me work a land green and budding
See the sun set red
And rise brightest yellow.
I can push off into a vast blue sea
And not care if I sail or get swallowed
For both is to be loved.
You’ve carried me in your shadow of light
Through the deepest blacks
Protected by your majesty
Into a brand new country
With brand new colours
A real rainbow of joy.
– Vagabond Prophet
Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “Second Hand Treasures.”
88
I sailed across the sea
Just daughters wife and me,
Took to the fields.
Fled a career
Building boxes for the dead,
It was killing me.
The culture around
As barren as the land
So I collected eighty eight keys.
The girls needed melodies,
And harmonies to dance to,
Maybe I did too.
Improving life
By risking it,
Maybe that boldness
Runs in the blood.
We all got thin that winter
But our minds ran thick
With music enriching.
I’d do it all again,
Trade my bacon for a duet,
And my ham for a ballad.
When coins slipped away
I brought the sow to town,
And traded her for music.
Worth it,
Every note.
– Vagabond Prophet
– In my dining room sitting to my left right now, is a piano that my great grandfather bought for his daughters after moving to Canada. He wanted music to be a part of their lives. He was making payments on it until he couldn’t, he decided trading their pig in to settle the debt was worth it. I don’t even know what they ate that winter.
Capsizing
In throes of deepest admiration
My heart cracking like lines in pavement,
Overwhelmed to the point of capsizing
As I behold my beloved,
No recesses of firmament
Not present in her gaze.
My pinion pinched and unwieldy
No longer can I sojourn
To the celestial region
So you saw fit
To place in her lissome form
All the beauty of the heavens.
She in state of repose,
Words always kind and sweet
Never besmirch, belittle, or cause harm
To this brittle soul of mine.
I beseech you have mercy on me
The third son of a third son
Of a man with just one eye.
Me I’ve got both,
But it won’t be enough
For my rods and cones
To comprehend her majesty.
– Vagabond Prophet
Undaunted
These mornings are still cool
While afternoons with heat
Make me perspire into the night.
What can I don
For this time between seasons?
Much the same as
The pains of destiny.
Knowing I’m for the next world
Yet under orders to toil here
To prepare the land and hearts.
For both predicaments
Will take much patience
A period of suffering
And a measure of courage
To look the end of time in the eye
Yet remain undaunted,
Though still perspiring into the night.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 