migrants
Learn more about other poetry terms
Most of my poems are cries
Cries for freedom from pain
Releasers of my feelings
On a page there’s a world where I can speak
There is no ceiling
There is a song that I was forced to hear
The voices were often lined with not love, but neither hate
This song is known far and near
This song was never recieved with much love, but neither hate
They make no fanfare traversing the lands
Using the night sky’s cool cover
The ancient ones followed the stars
To hidden oases scattered across the desert
