Tag: spilled poetry

Echo

Ballroom facades and finest outfits

Simple memories overshadowed by

Champagne flourishes and caviar bribery.

Egos bigger than themselves

To make doorways feel smaller

And double breasted suits

For men with no hearts at all.

Shouts and cries and squeals of glee

Shrouded by the rules of a dance

Performed by thousands before.

It’s not your dance, it’s not ours

They’re the steps given to us

That we now run away from.

We sprint into the rain

Shining gown gets soaked

And I see the skin beneath

Puckered and upset

With what the weather does beget.

Now we can shout

And finally find our voice!

Find a cave and scream out loud

For echoes never lie

Never amplifying or altering

Never adding or subtracting

Just your exact words again.

Forget the champagne and caviar,

Leave your fingerprints in the earth

Let forests, mountains, and caves

Remember the way you sound.

Your utterances indelibly pressed

Into rocks hitherto undented

They will always scream right back

Not holding onto your love

But giving and receiving in equal measure.

Don’t be silent don’t let thoughts

Go unspoken forever

Don’t make the stones wait for your song

Like a mother with a son at war

Waiting for his return

Only to receive a flag,

And a thank you for the blood.

Echoes always tell the truth

The most discerning of sleuths

They always detect a voice

Even in those who

Thought they’d lost theirs

Amongst the magnified silence

Of ballroom masquerades.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “The true meaning of an echo.” Hope everybody enjoys it.

Prompt Day 12

vagabondprophet:

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

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

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.”

Silenced

mildreflections:

I was silenced when I realized,

Screams in this world vanquish

Faster than candles against winds.

Quietened,

When it dawned upon me

That to stop a fight,

Means to sometimes take a hit.

Stymied,

When I grew up to understand

That win or lose doesn’t matter was just a myth.

And consolation prizes were stuff of fairy tales.

Stopped,

When I realized it took longer runs to achieve dreams,

And shorter to just be,

What the world wants me to be.

And I gave up after a single cry,

Because there was never time,

For second tries.

I choked on truths,

Because lies were easier to swallow.

And did it until,

They were heavy enough,

And I was no longer hollow.

I forgot to laugh,

Because sorrow was more comforting.

And put up walls,

Because I was told,

People could be destructive.

Became cold,

Because love was too difficult.

And easy relationships,

Was hoping for miracles.

So you see,

I was not always a silent person.

The end of my voice came,

With every little breakthrough in life.

When I realized the infinite pains

Of an enormous universe,

And then reflected upon my minute size.

                                 – Mild Reflections

Thanks you @vagabondprophet for prompting @josy57 and I with ‘at the end of your voice’. I hope you this is fine.

88

vagabondprophet:

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.