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THEY CALL ME ISHMAEL

My name is Prophet but they call me, I know passion. I am compassion. I know God. God has never abandoned me when I fall into crises of faith. We work well together. We are good bedfellows without drama. We speak intimate details. We discuss you. We speak about the virtues of your children inherited. I have His ear. He has my soul. I love God. “Hey, you!” I am a penniless drifter shod poorly, diseased & 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 & honor 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.

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