A Poet's Heart

A Collection of Poems

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Author's Note: Hello, my lovely readers! If you're here, then this kind of work is probably your cup of tea, so I would like to thank you for sparing my work a chance for a [future] read. Now, it's not that works of poetry are hard to come by or anything, or it's probably that there are few talented writers out dare who can write a good poem or two. Well, I'm not exactly 'that' talented or 'professional' by any means, though I would like to take this opportunity to share to you the poems I've written either in a moment of boredom or a random inspiration. Please understand that poetry is different from prose, and while it might irritate some of you that there'll be grammatical errors, my poetic license would tell otherwise. I'll still ask you to please bear with me and my crappy writing, though.

Creative criticisms are welcome!

Enjoy reading!

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The following poems under this publication are purely my intellectual property and may not be subject to reproduction or copyright in any form whatsoever without my permission and correct citation.


...to all oppressed journalists, this poem is dedicated to you

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Voiceless Balladeer

I bottled my tears inside these empty jars,

A whispered prayer in the listening shadows.

But you had me caged behind these iron bars,

And now my voice dies unheard in a quiet echo.

I travel these dark skies with wounded wings,

Lay in the hays I nested the eggs of justice.

But my back bends with every crack of your whip,

And my freedom twinges on your merciless grip.

You covered my eyes with a cruel blindfold,

Now my privilege lies helpless on your hold.

Here in this tarnished, golden vase

Lies the feathers of my bloodied chest.

I am an imprisoned bird, wanting to be freed,

And fly towards the blinding light of the sun.

I am a wandering soul, waiting to be saved,

And retrieve my power you buried under the ground.

It was I who composed the lyrics of a forgotten song,

I, whose throat you had slit with a sharp sword.

It was I who wrote the unfinished poem in the sand,

I, the voiceless balladeer kneeling on your demand.