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The last prophet
In the distance I see a glowing light.
Elongating the shadows that follow my back.
Walking with steady steps across the cold earth,
Disturbing the rain puddles.
These shadows follow me,
Like moths to a flame.
I walk towards the flame,
Towards the warm light,
For it's heat calls for me.
The fire calls me back.
A desolate land, blood collects in puddles.
Like ashes the bodies return to the earth.
For we came from the mud of the earth.
We inhaled life's flames.
Surrounded by oceans that are just mere puddles.
We seek the light.
We were taken back.
All that is left is me.
Where does this journey take me?
This journey across the pitch black earth.
The heavy cross I carry on my back.
The lantern that holds an eternal flame.
The trials that made this luggage light.
The memories of old that turns tears to puddles.
Memories of childhood, jumping through puddles.
Sweet memories for me.
Where there was light.
Where life was abundant on earth.
War has engulfed this world with flame.
How I wish we could go back.
It seems as though God has turned his back.
The oceans now but dried up puddles.
Love no longer a flame.
He is still with us, to me.
Why else am I still on this broken earth?
To return the light?
I have reached the light. It is time to go back.
My body returns to the earth, the rain falls into puddles.
My ashes, scatter for me, and carry my eternal flame.
totally enjoyed!! really
totally enjoyed!! really encourages the mind to wander!
..............
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "
Thanks!
Thanks for reading. I always enjoy reading your work too! It's 4:30am here I'm supposed to be asleep yet I am reading your poems :)
greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends