Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Bags under eyes, lids propped open regretfully. Blood slows in a traffic jam uncharged by adequate rest. Steps shorten and stumble. A slingshot, a catapult, a trebuchet will do, give me velocity to find my way to you. Fling me high and send me soaring across the night sky, skip me across calm waters, nock me on your bowstring and give me shrewdest point for wherever you’re aiming today.
Vagabond Prophet
The war won by cowards.
Not heroes strong and true
Always knowing what to do.
Skinny little boys
Fear rattling their bones
Terror shaking their hands
Trying to aim at heads and hearts
Similarly quaking.
Souls such as these won every war
Girding their loins
Deciding action to protect their own,
To defeat the enemy,
To take back the land
More important than their fright.
The cost is great,
Young men upon dying
Finally sharpened their fear
Into courage in acts of debut bravery.
And now remembered as heroes
As they should be.
Courage casting its lustrous shadow
Backwards upon all past deeds
Redeeming them before falling on its sword.
– Vagabond Prophet
Standing on the skyline
Waiting for a lifeline
To ride back home.
Standing on the skyline
Wondering how it looked
Before roads and buildings
And all things thatched with tar.
Standing on the skyline
Ignoring the compass
Given your magnetic nature.
You’re my true north,
I’ve walked south until I got there
Proof the earth is round.
You rise in the east
And if I invert myself
You rise in the west too.
Standing on the skyline
With winters rigid bones
And summers fragrant hope.
Standing on the skyline
Seeing mountains and valleys
Formed by your strong hand
And wondering what that says about me.
– Vagabond Prophet
Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “Standing on the Skyline.”
Greed, as defined by the poets dictionary.
Definition: Hungry hands with unnaturally sharp claws. An ever hungry need for more at the cost of anybody but yourself. Too many teeth for too small a meal, stealing your neighbours supper and still being unsatisfied.
Other definitions include: Unfulfilled desires fueled by diesel and fire.
Eight days a week insisting on nine, willing to kill to get it.
Coupon hoarding for the sale that’s never good enough.
Sharpening knives for the bones you make into broth. Elephant bone soup still insufficient.
Given enough weapons would invade every nation.
Given enough heat would boil the sea to make your tea.
Antonyms: Content, happy, at peace, needing nothing.
Greed only seeks to convince you that nothing about you or your life is enough.
Punish me brutally
Lock me up in shackles
Give me what I deserve.
All these years I’ve begged
Just to get what I’m owed
Only to realize
There is nothing worse.
Now learning my earnings
Are what you’ve saved me from
I’ll swear my allegiance
To your promise
That doesn’t fit on paper.
Who else has threatened death
With life
And won?
– Vagabond Prophet
Sloth, as defined by the poets dictioary.
Definition: To have one’s soul trapped in half set concrete. Wanting to move and able to move but the effort is beyond conception and eventually desire is too. Conforming to whatever mold you happen to find yourself in out of ease. Especially pernicious as being the most comfortable of the sins. Every tragedy, every dream, every ambition can be safely ignored with nothing more than a blanket and a pillow.
Other definitions include: Laziness.
A lack of interest in living.
To have had your blood swapped with a thick thick roux.
Some slip into it for a brief reprieve from calamity, and find themselves so sluggish that they can’t ever leave.
Antonyms: Vitality, energetic, productivity.
Slothfulness only seeks to ruin hearts by stagnation. To still the waters of your mind until they can nourish nothing at all and never feel another ripple at all no matter how one seeks to disturb them.
– Vagabond Prophet
Midnight snacks and joints that crack
The consequence of needs not flaunted.
Dreaming is hard when what you desire
Is beyond imagination.
In the meantime I keep
A dead bird in my pocket
Robin red breasted
Dressed to impress,
Imbue me with your majesty
So I can pretend at confidence
Until it’s not pretend.
Don’t be a mute canary
In the coalmine
Silent when we need your shrill chirp.
In death give me your sense for emergency
And a voice to match.
All these things and more I’ll do
Until I wake up by surprise
To find a new sunrise
Finding a world, no longer in disguise.
– Vagabond Prophet
– Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “a dead bird in my pocket”
Always have song present
The melodies of beauty to usher you
Through the monotony of life,
Crescendos to hold you through lows,
Melancholy sounds to remind you
In joy, that this is not yet home.
Music has lulled me
Invigorated this spirit,
Fortified my bones
When milk no longer could.
Harmonies even curlier than my hair
Have spun my heartbreak into epiphany.
Reminding that he speaks through all
If you only have ears to hear.
Always have song present
To comfort you when bothered
To bother you when comfortable.
The most beautiful sounds making sadness
Pulling tears from your eyes
To stretch into harp strings.
Always have song present
When you’ve canoes with no oars
And tusks with no boars
Rhythms yet unknown
Will guide your feet to safety.
– Vagabond Prophet
Stardust and comets tails
Solar winds fill heavens sails.
Blowing me
Across celestial sea.
The seven seas cast
Exactly upwards
To wet the fires
Of stars long gone cold.
Gentle hands so strong and pure
Kindling fires that must endure
To live long enough and die well enough
To inspire the likes of me.
Stardust and comets tails
Burning up so hot
Wearing destruction as a cape
Hurtling through infinite black
In search of an audience
For illumination.
I’m in the nosebleed seats,
Can’t bare to get any closer
But I’ll applaud loudly
And hope it carries as your light
Even in my death
Even as I burn up
Crossing forbidden barriers
To reach your heavenly ears.
– Vagabond Prophet
Ice coffee and gasoline
Two things I need tonight.
Locomotive power for a paralyzed mind.
Electrically sweet and combustible both
Give me strength to carry this yolk.If you see smoke in the distance
It’s likely me with pen and pad
Burning the candle at both ends
To have a double portion of wax
To use on a waning portion of myself.
Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 