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.