Morning bus ride
Exactly fourteen minutes
To arrange my soul
In tidy little stanzas.
– Vagabond Prophet
Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Morning bus ride
Exactly fourteen minutes
To arrange my soul
In tidy little stanzas.
– Vagabond Prophet
Where are we?
Don’t recognize this street.
Just like following you,
I hope the driver knows
Where he’s going.
– Vagabond Prophet
Passing cafes and shops
In morning twilight,
Rooftops laden with snow
Flowers don’t yet grow.
Almost there though
Icicles go drip drip drip
Spring knows how to entice
Seducing all the ice.
– Vagabond Prophet
Does your faith evaporate
Like water
On a hot sidewalk?
And children trample
On the remnant of your hopes.
What then?
Do you still believe?
When your heart
Undoes its rivets,
To let itself topple
Like a rookie jenga match.
Does your faith endure
The torrent of survival,
The steady drip of living.
Can it survive a head wound?
Or being trapped in a storm
With no way home?
It could be different you know,
You could let him carry you,
And work out the little knots in your soul.
Just know when your faith
In him is shaken,
His in you is not.
– Vagabond Prophet
Time carves a canyon
On my face,
Love thins to liquid
By your closeness.
It fills every crevice
Bridges every gap,
Rising to meet
The bluffs of my inadequacy
And placate all my nonsense.
– Vagabond Prophet
When grief fits perfectly
Like an old pair of jeans
Scuffed at the knees
Knowing every curve.
Take it all off
Come to bed darling
So I can hold you
And know every curve.
– Vagabond Prophet
Diuretic of the mind,
Extruded thoughts
Shaped by force.
Dread and malevolence,
Hornets in my pockets,
All good excuses.
I know the real reason
I push everything out
At transparency o’clock.
I pluck every bit out,
All that fickle plumage,
To let you see underneath.
I don’t need both hands
To count all my friends,
I just need both hands to be thankful
For the friends I have.
– Vagabond Prophet
Mountains look like ear lobes
All tufted with white
Like an old man but bigger.
Maybe that’s why
They say old men are wise,
If you climb to the heights
Of those tufts of white
You’re bound to find some perspective.
– Vagabond Prophet
Dear Joshua April 26th 2018
It’s official I’m the worst father ever. Alister’s birthday was two months ago and I forgot! I was so busy looking over my shoulder and worried about hidden intentions from every face I pass I forgot my own sons birthday! Can you believe that? I have so much credit from work now I could have gotten him a whole stack of books, if Liz would let him have it of course. I feel like such shit that I did that, I’ve been sweating every minute of every day on account of the fear I feel, like it’s in my blood, or in my eyes. That cave entrance again, every mirror I look at. Everything I’ve been going through, all the weight I’ve lost and how scrawny and pale and bloodshot I’ve become doesn’t excuse this. What can I do now though, hope Alister forgives me? I don’t doubt he will, he knows by now I’m not reachable to him. As far as hoping Liz forgives me for forgetting it, I guess I can just add it to the damn pile of things I hope she one day forgives me for.
At least I’m still alive, I haven’t slept a wink since the night he first came at me. Every day at breakfast lunch and dinner he sits across from me now. If I get up to move he just follows. He looks me straight in the eyes as he eats his food. He ends every such time with a single word, “Tonight.”
Tonight?! Tonight what? Like I don’t know. He’s been doing this for a week, knowing I’m not sleeping. Sadistic bastard just wants to see me squirm. The things I’ve been brainstorming are insane, different ways to kill someone with a knife. I swiped another one from the kitchen. I didn’t bother with a broken one but rather a nice big sharp one. I just grabbed it when the instructor wasn’t looking. I keep it under my pillow now in case Kal takes the first knife, the one he met the other night.
Trevor too, shit Trevor. Yesterday he told me he won’t be able to babysit me anymore. I ignored the offense of the statement and simply asked him why.
“I don’t want to, I just don’t want to. Protect yourself you wimp.”
And when I pleaded him to keep me safe from Kal and told him what had happened he just backhanded me hard. I’ve got a real nice bruise on my right cheek now.
Can you come visit me? I’ve noticed the weather is crazy but could you try? I saw from the yard that some trees out by the road had fallen over by the wind and that the clouds looked pretty sinister. It might be the last chance you get I have no idea what the future holds but I know the face of a friend would be a welcome site.
A.N. So close! Leave me some words please!
The mud like oil
Brought to a boil
Feet can’t get purchase
Too much momentum.
Fishtailing
Arms flailing
That’s just how I’m living
But I’ll get there one day.
– Vagabond Prophet