The Prophet

The Prophet I read the words of a poet From the days of tomorrow His verse flowed backwards in time And rhyme I, a fair maiden, doomed to a fate Of obligations unseen If only the book on my lap Was not ahead of my youthful station on this earth Verses seeping with promise I long for the voice of this master of the pen I day dream, and lose my place in this world of pain To hear his softness in the blowing wind Alas it must be the times he lives No man can carry such passion Inside a book within a book of dreams Yet, here I am, to ponder The romance of a tomorrow I shall never see I am doomed to village laws and customs A stoning that is so unjust For I unveiled my eyes to the world before me Staring into the depths of mans possessive hatred I ran in fear, I ran towards the forest of hope As they drag me by my feet The book clutched close to my breast Bloodied and in the moonlight, I open it To find out, even in the future of majestic noble poets There lies evil still Stealing the breath of innocents and infants I hope one day I shall meet the author of these words I may slap him across face for my silly fantasies So long I dreamed the world would change as does the seasons For better days filled with peace and kindness I hope one day I shall meet the author of these words I may plant a sweet kiss upon his soft lips Singing of songs he has long forgotten I slowly wrap the rope around my neck They will not stone me They shall not claim any victory over me The poets words, hidden deep between my legs Shall melt within my soul For better days filled with love and kindness I shall kiss him sweetly in my death