The Prophet

My words come to me like prophecies
I cannot fathom the freedom they hold
Through time has come to show me
In the rubble and rubbish – they’re gold

My words are like the stars
Guiding me through every night
The lighthouse to save my drifting soul
The energy I have left to fight

When daylight comes, and I arise
My words are there like prayers
Dreams have been lost and hope has been shattered
But my words, like tires, are my spares

I’m not so alone – I’m a book of my own
I’m living every word that I dare
I must write my way into a better state
For my prophecy is what I declare

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