The streets are filled with stranger’s faces

A poet alone among the races

The words caged in… A prisoner in life

Awaiting departure… a suicidal mind

He may find the words… but never finds peace

For with words come pain… a bitter sweet release

Fighting a battle within himself

Too coward to speak, the things that are felt

Sitting and watching the world spin round

At night sets free the tears that are bound

And we call them weak that hold the gun

When we’ve broken their spirits with our venomous tongue

He walks among us fulfills his place

A dying poet among our race

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daydreamer23 commented on Poet


wow that was very well written, we poets are a dying breed indeed but in our words we live forever,bless.



So True!

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

PoetChik’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
The Game 2
November's Curse 2
Thief of Words 2
I am 2
Poet 1
The Alcoholic 3
The Affair 7
Just words 3
Home 3
Hate 1
The Call 4