Diseased And Despised

by Scott Utley

My name is Prophet, ..., but they call me, "Hey! You!" I am a penniless drifter,

shod poorly, diseased and despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path

to the shed used by swine. I'm gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by

circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter. I

barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my

most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come

a-knocking on the door of my rice-paper heart. The possession I speak of is my

inner light, my love, the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not,

I possess neither food nor shelter. But light has never let me down. My huckster

mind can convince me otherwise, nevertheless, shyster thoughts be damned. Belief

does not make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely,

rejected, and filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are

the same evenings I forget to be grateful. On these occasions, nights crawl

painfully slow to that trickster called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up

in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom is priceless, so I give it away for free. I must. Like

my father before me, I stand hunched-back, just as his father before him. My

deformed stoop is the result of an incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders.

My mother was born in Hell's Kitchen. My father was orphaned at the age of two in

the dank Mississippi poverty that knows no equal. Tragic obstacles for both of

them, to be sure, but triumphantly overcome with passion, ideals, and love. But

even born deformed and senseless is easier to bear than this weight, this soul

numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I fear for the innocents

striding between land and the cobalt blue seas. When I fear it's because I've

abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to

God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer's hallucinations run

amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.


Author's Note: I liked this title but it has absolutely nothing to do with the meat of the piece. I am just very concerned about our nation and the dunces who rule and the dopes who let them.

Posted on 04/05/2009
Copyright © 2019 Scott Utley

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