Original Poetry about anything and everything.
It’s my birthday today
Though every day is the anniversary
Of something
Today is the anniversary of me,
Of when ink first spilled
On empty pages of my life.
Old enough to know
Youth can’t be given
Only thinned
Like a ring resized
For ever widening fingers.
Young enough to know
Most of the book is yet unwritten,
Many trips around the sun
Not yet spun.
– Vagabond Prophet
‘I am pandora’s box
Devil’s got the key
Opens as he pleases
To take control of me.’
This is the way I thought
Before my heart was bought
Taming every vein
Purifying acid rain.
What a miracle you’ve wrought
In blood spilled for prices paid
Your mercy magnified
By wrath that you have stayed.
The justice undiluted
For my behalf you have disputed
Saving me from hellish jaws
And circling vultures hungry caws.
– 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
Under the weather
Above the soil
Where else could I be?
Unable to soar above
Subject to the way the sky
Indecisively swings on hinges
Like alcoholic binges.
The staccato of a door
Urgently tapped upon
When hail falls on my roof
Reminding me of what I’m beneath.
It’s okay it won’t always be that way.
– Vagabond Prophet
Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “under the weather.”
Seven years ago we
Braided our lives together,
I’ve never felt taller
Than I did that day.
My shoes red
Your shoes yellow
Dancing they turned orange.
Orange like sunset
On the days of scorn from others,
Trying to bring clouds
To a sunny day.
Orange like sunrise
On the best chapter of my life.
– Vagabond Prophet
“Don’t talk to strangers”
My mother said to me
But the stranger inside
Whispers so elegantly.
Ignore it but can’t silence
Over time drowns out my mother
As she sounds stranger and stranger
And the voice within becomes familiar.
Thorn in my side
Coaxing out the best of me
With weaponized linguistics
Moving like a flood
Churning like blood.
Long twisted corridors
Forgetting the way back.
Learning courage is not concerned with results
But only the attitude of the heart
Amongst daunting threats
And that faith anchored properly
Allows for some doubt.
Now ignoring the whispers
That never quite abated
For the songbird with truths instead of lies
Belts out harmonies so joyous
So majestic and sonorous.
I think my mother meant something different,
Perhaps “Don’t let people stay strangers”
Know them, converse and learn
Whether to continue friendship
Or let them slip through my fingers
Like coins no longer currency.
Trading thorns for crowns
Painful business that is
With skin grown over affliction
Yet worth it, every time.
– Vagabond Prophet
Some looking the same while others new inventions,
Some with different coloured hair and others with thinning,
Some still learning and others still choosing not to learn.
More chapters in every story,
Woe and joy mixed up
Like a cocktail we’re now old enough to drink.
All those years ago I had been in a storm,
And though I didn’t know all of them
They were the other rocks that the spray fell on.
I the most prominent point
For the breakers to break upon
In the tempest of my youth,
But they were there too
And I mustn’t forget that when
People at home left
They never did.
Stupid, smart, ugly, and cute alike
Their familiarity something I could count on.
Ten years later and I’m nearly rebuilt,
Strong and safe and surely surrounded by love
As I near completion I’m reminded
Their may be some stones here yet worth keeping.
– Vagabond Prophet
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.
You’ve been the bright
Spots in the sky,
Giving meaning to my nights
As well as being the lens
Through which I see it.
Vagabond Prophet
Peace as defined by the poets dictionary
Definition: A tranquility of the spirit that envelopes body, mind, and soul.
Slowing and making graceful your actions for the lack of emergency. The cool waters to calm the aching muscles of your weary heart. The world spinning on as it ever did but your own thoughts remain steady and don’t sway in every wind that blows by, untossed by the waves that ebb and flow. Anchored to steadiest of ground and content in a secure hope, casting aside worries, not because they’re not worrisome but because peace covers it and renders it unimportant.
Other definitions include: The draught that aims to tame the flame which burns your passion into poison.
Achievement and maintenance of amiable relations with your neighbours, forgetting the grass and the corresponding colours but learning about the people behind the fences and being okay with the differences.
Antonyms: Anxiety, restlessness, anger, wrath, violence.
Only peace endeavours to leave blood unspilled, instead doing its good work to bring air where before was only despair.
– Vagabond Prophet
@mildreflections thanks for coming along on this journey, can’t wait to see what you come up with next.
Vagabond Prophet 