Tag: writers creed

Early Bus

How many people in homes

Do I pass riding this early bus

How many people still dreaming

Or nightmaring.

How many about to start

The best or worst days

Of their lives.

Too early to tell

Right now the day is pregnant

With potential

And not even showing yet.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thirty Acres

Thirty acres in the middle of the city

Pavement closing in on every side

Cattle grazing lazily

While I’m stuck in traffic.

How lucky you are

To be an island of green

Amidst an ocean of grey.

– Vagabond Prophet

There was no trail

No sound or cry.

Just a few drops on the floor

Not knowing man woman or child.

Where are you?

Are you okay?

Was that all the blood you had to give?

Did the ground open up and drink the rest entirely?

Just give me a sign

That everything is okay,

I worry about you

You anonymous bleeder you.

– Vagabond Prophet

Ruby Red

Will kill you dead.

Brilliant

Set in gold.

A family ring of old.

Reminds me of my blood

Where I come from,

The beat of my drum.

Now I’m the leader

With the ruby red ring,

Don’t try anything.

I protect my own

Everyone I love,

Silent as a dove.

I’ll come down from above

From the tree tops

Quiet as dew drops.

You won’t see me coming

But I’ll smell your fear

When I get near.

Don’t test me

I won’t ask twice

If you promise to play nice.

My family

Is my pride

And I won’t have them hide.

Ruby Red

Will kill you dead.

– Vagabond Prophet

Cleft Heart

vagabondprophet:


Early October when the bomb went off,

Tearing us apart.

A brother here, a sister there.

Scattered across the globe.

Like the shock had made

Roots suddenly disappear.

Wandering to find them again.

Something to anchor me to life,

And something to pretend

That none of this ever happened.

It was like walking under a tree

Green burning bright

Like a star in the night.

Until it drops its snow

Right down your back

And your spine inverts itself.

The snow no colder than

The snowball fight earlier.

But never expected.

I never expected any of this

I trusted you,

I loved you.

But after you left,

We didn’t talk for months.

You didn’t understand that.

How could you think,

Nothing would change between us?

When you tore my heart right out.

I was a child,

Not a liver,

I’m not that resilient!

Are you stupid?

Or can you just think

That wishfully?

Couldn’t you have thought wishfully,

About her too?

Build her up in your mind.

Something better than she was,

Instead of leaving me all alone with her,

The only boy around.

We were six!

Then just three,

Only boy was me.

Brothers dug for oil,

Money for their toil.

We all got new family.

Pretend it’s normal

This prefix ‘step’ for everybody.

A monosyllabic word for ignorance.

Did you have stinging nettles

In the corners of your mind,

Shrouding your secrets from yourself?

I didn’t know what a man was!

How could I instantly become?

I guess you didn’t know either.

I found a new father,

He’s never let me down.

He’s unshakable.

Yeah we talk now,

About the weather,

And the price of gas.

But it will never be the same,

I can’t think that wishfully.

I won’t struggle to get as close.

You used to hold me close,

Just to be near me,

I treasure the memory.

It was twelve years ago you left,

Twelve years with a cleft heart.

When you changed the definition of home.

I’m trying to be eloquent now,

But all I can think of,

Is just how much it hurt.

– Vagabond Prophet