Tag: spilled poetry

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

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:

Insurance

I am the .1 percent

Can’t be disinfected

I’m the tsunami

That can’t be detected

And for the house fire

That can’t be expected

They say insurance,

Get insurance

But insurance is just paper

You scribbled all over

Saying you’ll get money

When your world is over

Money’s just paper

And paper starts fires

This just complicates

And stirs in me a fire

So now you understand

I hope it’s all clear

If you lose everything

That you hold dear

Your paper won’t help you

I won’t be held liable

When I take your life

Like something easily pliable

Because I’m

About

to snap.

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.

Heart attack heart

vagabondprophet:

I woke up clutching my chest
Doc says my heart was attacked
I don’t know what it’ll gain
But I’ll try to reenact

You caught me accidentally
Like a fatal ricochet
You smiled like I’d never seen
In a private display

How can I describe you
Far too many a detail
If the Devil’s in just one
Well I’ll surely derail.

I’ll try to do you justice
With the passion you’ve installed
You dropped it walking by
And into me it crawled

My god you hurt so bad
My gut twists and wrenches
Feeling you creep inside
With vicious gripping clenches

I’d drink all the poison
That you’re recommending
So that you’d call me yours
Even if you’re pretending

You’re by far my favourite cancer
My heart is yours to attack
I’m terminal you know
My heart is yours to attack

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 what you wanted

Well then you will not be haunted

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

– Vagabond Prophet

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

vagabondprophet:

Insurance

I am the .1 percent

Can’t be disinfected

I’m the tsunami

That can’t be detected

And for the house fire

That can’t be expected

They say insurance,

Get insurance

But insurance is just paper

You scribbled all over

Saying you’ll get money

When your world is over

Money’s just paper

And paper starts fires

This just complicates

And stirs in me a fire

So now you understand

I hope it’s all clear

If you lose everything

That you hold dear

Your paper won’t help you

I won’t be held liable

When I take your life

Like something easily pliable

Because I’m

About

to snap.

vagabondprophet:

Discarded

To dive headlong

Into the ravine

The vee cut neckline

Plunging into the bosom

Of mother nature herself

To die of despair

A pendulum in the air

To swallow handfuls of madness

To dull the crowding sadness

All of these deaths I abhor

But cruelest yet

Is that you ignore

Not a glance, whisper, or touch.

Discarded

Like coupons from a store

You no longer frequent.

Games Night

Tuesday night

Games night,

Two words

Five syllables.

Conniving

Bastard.

It was just a game

That ought to have ended.

It’s Wednesday now

You’re still

A conniving bastard.

Stop it now,

Or else a different game.

Hide and seek,

You’ll never find me.

– Vagabond Prophet