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Beggar Prophet

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.


Ragged prophet, friend of mine
Spirit so pure, so tender and kind.
Ragged prophet, wrinkles for friends
Speaking truths of life's horrid ends.

Ragged prophet, rags for clothes
Bones for shoes, trails of woes.
Eyes of truth groveling at One
Of all your wars, you seldom won.

Ragged prophet, lonesome and sad
Never sharing a life you never had.
From youth to old, days on days
Wandering ways, lovers of clay.

Ragged prophet, valiant to few
Limbs for walk, eyes for truth.
A sun up, a sundown counted once
A rusted crown, a doddling dunce.

Ragged prophet, no birth paper seen
Wandering telling of those of being.
Coming with clouds of vengeance true
Able to slice down lies running through you.

Ragged prophet, no pity you spark
Walk by us as in days of dark.
Sip the red water o' soul so forlorn
Raising the children not yet so born.

Ragged prophet, no name you give
A shaky hand, a crust to live.
A filthy abode an alleyway for sleep
At life's end many lives to reap.

Ragged prophet walks alone
Ne'er twisting, bending your wistful tone.
Ne'er crawling on liar's knees
Bones of cruelty your forehead sees.

Ragged prophet here only for a thought
Seeking one breath you never sought.
Dancing on raven wings so quick
Melting evil's wax so filthy and thick.

Ragged prophet, your music is gone
Your one lonely friend is now alone.
Lonesome tries a new coat of blue
Hoping, praying, sun will not see you.

Ragged prophet, allies run
Days are over, no setting of sun.
Eyes are weak, just pain do they see
Suffering plenty, far little glee.

Ragged prophet, words are but few
Your talking and pleading are on the dew.
A line drawn for evening's end
Only pink-hued truth, no story's feint bend.

Ragged prophet, butterfly is now gone
Snow falls easy watching you alone.
Creeping, kneeling on last knee to seek
A valley made high--was once a jagged peak.

Ragged prophet, flowers whisper your name
Singing angel children dance for your fame.
Creation stumbleth, but no one sees
Ragged prophet's death on his knees.


© 2017 Kenneth Avery

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