Prophet's Pamphlet

A poet is a prophet, and as such he is considered mad or a fool. What he offers is both priceless and worthless.

Rejoice at your place

On the fringes of this world

Because the more

You’re out in the desert

The closer you are to the Truth

 

It is in the presence of Silence

That my work is done

It is to those that

Long to feel its humming

That I speak

 

It is the yearning for a glimpse,

A hint, a faint ray of the Light

That your heart searches for

Between these lines written

With blood, sweat, tears and ink

 

What’s the price tag on a soul?

Can its whispers and cries

Be bought, sold or advertised?

I am a dealer of goods

That cannot be merchandised

Reviews

[Vertigo Cat1111]

Why do I always find such great poems at night? I don't know, but the story and picture you painted with this were breathtaking, cinematic, and kinda creepy. I absolutely love this, and you can just make a story and image so well with your words. Another one to go in my library!

[Laz K.]

Thank you!
I usually write at night; you read at night. Poetry of the night...🙂

[Vertigo Cat1111]

It was my pleasure to read a wonderful poem!

[Tania Mo]

Yes this is so true. Whats worthless is priceless and the useless stuff costs me plenty of dollars and keeps running out.

[Laz K.]

Hah, yeah.
Thanks for the read and the comment.

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

Interesting poem.
" the more
You’re out in the desert
The closer you are to the Truth," is my fave line.
I throw myself out there mentally when I write. Sometimes it's like Mad Max Fury Road, I wouldn't have it any other way. What you say in your description speaks to me, it's like a quote I read once, "the worse tragedy of a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood." I try hard not to let that happen to me lol. Wonderful poem. It really made me think. Tyfs

 

[Laz K.]

Thank you.
Yes, poetry can tap into hidden parts of ourselves.

[Lorry]

Whatever it is that we all share to varying degrees, we for the most part do it completely and pour more of ourselves into our words than even we imagine, as a look through the years gone by writing will prove on re-reading. And for what? To move on to the next and do it all again, to attempt to capture words and phrases that best encapsulate our thinking and in some small way validate our being by leaving fingerprints of self to live beyond our memory?
Who knows what or where our own answers lie, but we do know it makes for a far more interesting journey than we have yet to imagine, what with truth being stranger than fiction and this being the year of years that proved it.
I shall enjoy the calm of my winter like oasis and only visit more congregated areas when needs must... Can't hear a thing above all that city clatter these days....which may explain my pens recent inactivity, but I'll wait and see what comes when it comes and just enjoy the calm while I can.
So well written here. Not a word out of place and leads us all toward thinking thoughts of writing, reflecting and hopefully, picking up our own pen in the process.

[Laz K.]

Thank you for reading this poem, and comnenting. It's much appreciaed.

[Dave Brown]

With the dabbling in souls taking place, this has the aura of spooky

[Laz K.]

Dark, yes, I agree.