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
Tag: spilled ink
i’m sorry that i wake you at random times in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, but thanks for not hating me, k?
Its when I see you sound asleep
That I berate myself
You are so calm, at peace and deep
inside another realm
I’m lonely with your heart right there
Beating by my side
Somewhere away, your soul drifts out
Without me into night
So when I wake you, tickling toes
tugging on your ear
Bugging you to look at me, please know it’s just I fear
That you will leave me one day
Not to dream but live away
With someone else in mind
And in the panic I just need
Your eyes to fix on mine
You are sorely mistaken
I rarely dream at all,
For what would I dream
When my days are filled with joy
With knowing your touch and voice.
Once in a blue mood
I’ll dream I’m better for you
A knight with real armour
Instead of this cardboard cavalry.
And if my soul does wander
As you fear it may,
I promise it’s towards you
Not away.
When you wake and tremble,
It’s the bit of me drifted in to you
Aching to see the bit of you drifted into me.
And the open window only blows gently
It provides no escape,
Though I may roam
It’s not far,
I never leave the sheets.
– Vagabond Prophet
Hickory
Once again I ride the town,
Hop on board until
The end of the line.
Through this haze
Of hickory smoke from
Wildfires too close for comfort.
Morning mists not yet burned
Mean everything is grey,
Sinking in deeper
As we saunter downtown.
It’s thick and it’s hot
Leaving streaks on windows
As though it’s the sweat of the flame.
Not the first time
Won’t be the last
Thay I pray for rain.
For pregnant clouds to come
And birth that fresh new life
On all that smoulders.
– Vagabond Prophet
Frigid
The wind bites my face
And I know that’s your embrace
But it hurts,
Must you be so cold?
I make a hot cup of something
See I’ve got an answer for everything,
As usual I’m either too smart
Or too dumb.
I don’t even know which
It changes like a switch,
So let the wind bite my face
And make my legs go numb.
Let me stay stranded in the cold
No choice but to be bold,
When I’m captured by your might
Captivated by frightful beauty.
Make your frosty tongue
Climb every rung
And run piercing
Through every passageway.
Don’t give me a way out
Don’t make it a fair bout,
Call me to yourself
Grip me firmly.
Take me in your hand
Put on me your brand
Enchant me with
Your frigid brilliance.
– Vagabond Prophet
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.
Brand New Key
Brand new key,
Fitting too well
Not allowing for my elbows,
Suicide by installments,
Or even custody of my own eyes.
Truth isn’t easy to swallow
Nothing that sharp is,
Wildfires don’t permit
Caveats and addendums,
Flash floods don’t schedule
Convenient appointments.
All consuming flame
Knows that real estate
Is the only good investment
So it comes and buys it all
No resistance fought
No feeble squall.
This decimation of autonomy
Is a blessing in the end,
For it strips the razor wire
From my own DNA
And cleans those wounds invisible.
– Vagabond Prophet
Soundtrack
I hear desperation sing out
From the shower down the hall,
Plaintive moans
From yet stretching chords.
It harmonizes with carts
Rolling along down the street,
The screeching tires
And the angry cries
At nights most hurting hours.
It’s the soundtrack of the city
Shouting at the great boot
That would stamp out the light
But for the disjointed resistance,
The reluctant militia.
We march in all directions
Starting as many fires as we put out,
Yet onwards ever onwards.
Even at 3 A.M.
The rubber never leaves the road
And the resilience to survive
Is never stopped, only slowed.
– Vagabond Prophet
Chronicles
Wood grain warped by knot in center,
The weakness the flaw
Removed to learn it was the cornerstone.
Extracted and everything starts to crack
Splintering lines rush to furthest border,
Why is it so that we should crumble without scars?
The chronicles of your ventricles
The hallways your blood strolls through
Provide for me an answer.
The best things the strongest things
Are made so by pressure
By a measure of suffering
And persecution,
The flower pressed
Preserved by adversity.
– Vagabond Prophet
Scales
Jagged memories the kind you handle carefully
Or not at all,
Lest they claw their way through
The corridors of your mind
With all those telling pin pricks of blood.
Thoughts intruding at cruelest hours
Syphoning off what was left of your spirit.
Shed them all peel them off
Scrape them from reluctant skin,
Cutting scales from skin grown accustomed.
Trading all loneliness for solitude
And all grief for joy,
Goodness earned through strife
Is a high price to pay
But not to is much higher.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 