#✺;;|| The Prophets Prose

[chaoscrawls]

The man lays curled up on the side of the pavement. It's cold and his body trembles inside his heavy jacket. Consciousness swirls in his eyes, growing further and further way with every passing second. Was it the booze? Or was his patron god messing with him? He couldn't tell.

[derangedrhythms]

Robert Jones, Jr., from 'The Prophets'

[tothecrucifieddeer]

Written 07/31/24 [POEM FOUR]

Sometimes in my dreams you pick my wings off slow and meticulous--like you are wiping dust from my moth back one particle at a time.

I am an angel and you make me naked one feather at a time.

Do you remember how I used to fly? Do you?

Naked before God, but in a different way, naked as a sign of trust, of love--

But you have made my body bare and bruised, crumpled up and sick, my hands don't know me now--

nails as my halo--blood as my song--you have made me this, you have, you have--

Worst of all you might be a new Messiah, angels sing your name--there is so much I love about you and I hate that--

Look at the gore you wrought! My bones turned to iron and hid by depression fat--I should burn you down. I love you--isn't it disgusting?

My hands, look at my hands! They're shaking, aching, desperate, needy--I knew you. Open wound of a man--soft, gentle, until no one was around;

burn me if you must, crush me into dust--angry like electrolemon lightning strikes. Do you hate me? I couldn't bear that--melt me back into glass globs--turn me to pure sand again.

Could you ever want me back? I'd let you rip me up all over again--

You know, it's all rigor mortise on the memory--raise the dead sweet boy,

I know you can. In the end, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

[inkedwingss]

Ugliness lurks in the darkness, dressed as a lady, with a mischievous look, ready to deceive you—perhaps, she doesn't even need to.

She dances in the graveyard of the good hearts, celebrating their departure from ''her'' world, but she doesn't know they are the blessed ones, not having to look at her ever again.

I see the smoke going up in the middle of the crowd. Another dead child. Ugliness dances in between enemies: she loves them all! Beauty for her is what is upside down— I guess we are calling good, evil, and evil, good, after all.

More tears and agendas than we can count: everyone swears they are the righteous ones; what is this truth they have found? So many causes and dead trees to mourn; all distractions, while they steal your soul. Goodbye again, paradise.

Ugliness delights in the void of your heart as you watch nations falling apart. She sits at the table with the governants, since both want to chew the people. But at the end of the day, people are just people, they all feel hungry and alone, and they all love and hate. They all can feel the pressure of ugliness, watching over them, just around the corner, destroying every trace of life wherever she puts her feet. They all want to live.

They also forget that when they wake up, she will be there again, all inviting, trying to lure them into the easy path. They forget that, in the blink of an eye, she can make her home in their hearts. And then, one by one, they are gone.

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[thepersonalwords]

Even the poorest among us deserves the dignity of equality.

The Prophet of Life

[kashilascorner]

Actually, I do have a lot of thoughts about Prose Tristan (not necessarily coherent ones) and I'm only halfway through

[goosegeesemoosemeese]

“And Man, whom you deem so small and ignorant, is God’s messenger who has come to learn the joy of life through sorrow and gain knowledge from ignorance.”

-Kahlil Gibran, The Voice of the Master

[quotelr]

The main job of the prophets is to guide and re-kindle the lost souls from going astray.

Mwanandeke Kindembo

[masgwi]

[catmint1]

Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave and eats a bread it does not harvest. Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful. Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream, yet submits in its awakening. Pity the nation that raises not its voice save when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except among its ruins, and will rebel not save when its neck is laid between the sword and the block. Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpeting, and farewells him with hooting, only to welcome another with trumpeting again. Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strongmen are yet in the cradle. Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.

—Kahlil Gibran, The Garden of The Prophet

[chaoscrawls]

"Will you stop looking at me like that? I'll quit another time. Just hand over my cigarettes already."

[thedeafprophet]

evern since i found out chandler groover wrote a fair bit of evolution it all made sense to me. (i don't enjoy groover's style despite many others liking it)

which is good for me because i can just go "oh this is just the usual aspects i don't really like" instead of anythin else lol

[derangedrhythms]

Neither of them chased the other and yet each was surrounded by the other.

Robert Jones, Jr., from 'The Prophets'

[tothecrucifieddeer]

And of sacrifice? And of transformation--miracles? Pain? What do you want for me?

I will collapse under the weight of it all--I can feel it. The black hole in my stomach--universes spinning, dying, and watching--it's the internal eyes of a thing like that, that's what gets you. The way hunger grows eyes and shows you yourself from both outside and in. Devouring--I'm a Junji Ito story, spiraling in on myself--these sacrifices, they mock me. They promise to save you and bring you home to me--but I fail. I fail time and time again. My love, what of hunger, of auto-cannabilism, what of desire and love?

Come home, beat the nostalgia and longing out of me. Smash my skull good. I'd take it from you. I'd like you to stick a gun down my throat. You shoulda blown my brains out after whatcha did to me. Violence never scared me babe, I know what I deserve. I don't know why you dared save me or keep me alive--I turned you in didn't I?

Typical violence until it means keeping a promise.

[inkedwingss]

Dark New Age

Oh, lazy sapiens sapiens, wake up, get out of your grave made of soft dopamine pillows! I beg you, ask questions. The dangerous ones that you don't want to ask. Use your brain, I implore. Stop swallowing agendas like you swallow pills, advertisements of parallel dimensions that do not exist, and stupidity in general. Wait, what? What was that? You can't breathe? Spit this garbage you have been feeding yourself – it gets stuck in your throat. Yes, it will get you killed. Silently, very slowly, you won't even notice. Yes, that is dangerous, so please, spit it out now. You will be fine. Here, take this glass of grounding, warm, and dry reality. Bite the truth cracker. Be honest with yourself, and maybe you will survive a few more hours to finally see the sunrise and kill this dark age we live in.

[speck-ofdust]

وَوَصَّيْنَا الْاِنْسَانَ بِوَالِدَيْهِ ۚ حَمَلَتْهُ اُمُّهٗ وَهْنًا عَلٰي وَهْنٍ وَّفِصٰلُهٗ فِيْ عَامَيْنِ اَنِ اشْكُرْ لِيْ وَلِوَالِدَيْكَ ؕ اِلَيَّ الْمَصِيْرُ

"And We have commanded people to ˹honour˺ their parents. Their mothers bore them through hardship upon hardship, and their weaning takes two years. So be grateful to Me and your parents. To Me is the final return."

— Allah سُبْحَانَهُ وَ تَعَالَى || [Surah Luqman:14]