Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Red frames around brown eyes
Like black coffee but sweeter.
Eyes focused pondering
How to get your heart out
Through your fingertips.
Oh sweetheart don’t forget
You have my heart too,
Maybe that ink will thin
More easily.
I’ve always been
A little more fluid in February.
– Vagabond Prophet
Looking for inspiration when you’re sitting right in front of me. I can be so stupid sometimes.
What is a writer?
A thoughtsmith
Shaping words
With heat and strength
Into something you can wield.
Sometimes a sword
Sometimes a candlestick.
A poet much the same
But more nonsensical,
Like a soldier
Who dances into battle.
No less effective
Just different.
If you do it well enough
It can be understood
In every language
Like “Coffee” or “Mama”,
And maybe just maybe
Make people wonder
If we’re made for something different.
– Vagabond Prophet
Bright and early
Brown eyed and tempestuous,
You flicker and burn
Like embers in the wind.
Disaster yearns at dawn
I better get this boy breakfast
And delay the apocalypse
Just one more day.
– Vagabond Prophet
Yesterday was rain
With polkadot asphalt,
The wind made a current
Sky turned white
And slowly descended.
Today is different
Frosty little tidbits
Floating down to earth.
Earth shivers at its touch
Just like a first kiss.
Liquid becomes solid
At the gentleness
Of your touch.
And you say to me,
“I colour the ground,
To remind you I’m around.”
– Vagabond Prophet
If even milk can die
And turn into something great
What does that say of me?
In my current state.
If fruit can perish
Turning into wine
Give strength to my gut,
But not straight off the vine.
Okay you’ve made it clear
I’ll undergo the transformation,
I’ll die and die again
Is this truly salvation?
– Vagabond Prophet
Hearts been pumping inkSlick and unerasable,
Things both good and bad
Boldly on the page.
Like rock formations
Road workers go around
Circumventing, rerouting
Avoiding at all costs.
Give me courage
To smooth these bumps
Fill these holes
And pave a road to you.
– Vagabond Prophet
I had this membrane in my brainSeparating good from evil,
One day I took a stick
Poke poke poke.
I was just curious
But now it’s rushing in
Past all of me
I can’t tread anymore.
When it gets past halfway
Maybe it’ll flow back
That’s when I’ll grab the tape
And make my escape.
– Vagabond Prophet
If sorrow plucks and pulls,
And microphones only diminish
The desperation in your voice.
If the hair on your soul
Has gone grey with worry,
Don’t lose heart.
It’s true all that’s inside
Will be coming out,
But you get to choose
What happens with the vacant space.
– Vagabond Prophet
Give credit where credit is dueTime you genius you.
None carve as masterfully as you.
And she, she fears time ahead.
How it promises to tug, pull, and crease
Slowly unfolding her youth.
She doesn’t know my eagerness,
To see those same effects
See the whole canvas stretched.
I long to see the way
That she unfurls
Day after day.
As water smooths out stone
So time erodes her face,
A slowly chiseled beauty.
As the ax must blow by blow
Slowly strip away,
The fibers from one another.
So I anxiously await
The sands of time
Etching her away.
Crows feet will appear
The years will dig trenches
In the softness of her face.
I don’t believe in evolution
But her beauty does evolve,
A process of natural seduction.
She enchants me without trying,
As time goes marching by
I’ll orbit her still.
The more that’s scuffed away
Cut or split right off
To make way for something better.
Time you genius you
Master of shape
And all things exquisite.
You will scrub away her youth
Unravel her naivete
Leaving wisdom engraved.
Her body swelled and stretched
With babes not once but twice,
Lasting marks of conquest.
She fought to create,
To be the river’s mouth
For life itself to dawn.
Strip it all away,
This current face of hers,
What are you hiding?
A gift with one million layers,
That unwrap day by day,
No shortcuts.
The crescendo of her beauty
Will take many moons to reach,
I await that goddess truly.
Excess must be shed
To reach the final gem
I’ll hold her against the blows.
If time should bring her pain,
It’s no surprise but all the same
I will crouch down beside her.
With creaky knees and hazy eyes
A foggy mind and weakening spine,
I’ll crouch down to kiss it better.
If time should bring her grief
As part of this descaling,
I’ll be there.
Soak me through with tears
So they eat through me too,
We’ll ferment together.
I only wish to love her
Half as well as time,
Every fold and curve
Marked by its caress.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 