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Ballad Art Poems | Ballad Poems About Art

These Ballad Art poems are examples of Ballad poems about Art. These are the best examples of Ballad Art poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ballad | |

Future Picture

Paint me my teacher
A picture of my future
Tell me at this juncture
About My future
I will listen with rapture
You my teacher
Show me every feature
Of my future.

spread me my teacher
the wings to my future
Make me learn
what my efforts will return
Hold my hand
Guide me and
let me walk the path
My life is worth.

Show me my teacher
what is stored in my future
show me the beauty
of my future duty
Then I will paint
a picture with no stain
A future perfect picture.

show me my teacher
the colors to paint my future
I will paint a doctor picture
Or paint a lawyer picture
I will paint my perfect future picture
with the colors from you my teacher
Help me paint my future
My respected teacher.

Copyright © Griffins Ndhine

Details | Ballad | |

second tribute

"Destroyed By a Poet"
by:  Eric L. Boddie

Precious are the words 
Only your heart can serve 
Every Beautiful thought 
Tends to leave us caught 
Deeply in the mix 
Entertaining the thought of getting a fix 
Strong enough to lift 
The heart in us all, providing a gift 
Relative to what we most desire 
One inspiration that takes us so much higher 
Your eyes touch this when confronted by the mirror 
Every part of you is somehow superior 
Rare, Loveable, all things of that such 
And the fact of knowing you, to this poet means so much 

Copyright © eric boddie

Details | Ballad | |

A House On the Cliff's Edge

There is a house on the cliff’s edge,
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline
At night, the tide lifts high against a foggy moon
In the morning, gloomy clouds settle with the sea
At times, not even the birds are seen or heard
The house is left to nature’s caress

Home-crafted seashell chimes sway and sing with the wind
Crushed sand dollars lie together on the back porch
The shells were once whole, collected by the former owners
Long gone are they now, smiling with the moon
The owners are the very sound of the ocean spray,
Striking the rocks, announcing the cool dawn of day
They are not the dark, empty rooms,
The rooms that nobody thinks of as they go about their lives
The quiet owners are long gone—thought of only by one
A stillborn legacy about as tiresome as the sun,
When the clouds crisp out its beams . . .

A seawater puddle is in the middle of the dining room
Nobody knows it sits there, sinking in the floorboards
It used to be a far larger puddle after a storm,
Stealthily leaking into the house
But now it is small—so small—and the boards are moist,
Moist with its only companion amongst the instilled silence

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
They were not much for socials and gatherings
They always lived their quiet, happy lives
Without a care of the outside world,
Far from anybody’s thought
Miles from the nearest home
Where the next generation comfortably lives 

He never finished fixing that leak . . .

Sometimes the puddle gets bigger after other storms
And when it does, there is almost life there again
You can see the chandelier reflected on the unperturbed water
As a crystal dangles and falls from on high
The dark silence following the drop is as deep as thought . . .

Nobody thinks of empty, abandoned rooms
Nobody remembers the former owners
There is merely a house on the cliff’s edge
Around a quiet, unmarked shoreline

-March 21, 2013-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal

Details | Ballad | |

From Sunday School to Monday Morning

Once again I tip the scale
And mutter, whoever invented it was a man from hell.
It was not a woman who created weights for size
For women can look past the outer shell
And search deep for what is inside.
Men must have their cake and eat it too…
From head to toe-perfection-from hat to shoe
I dress in all white for today I must teach Sunday school
If only a man’s heart would find my food
I can shake and bake
If only on my plate would a handsome man chance to take.

The preacher gets up on the pulpit and puts on his show
Talks about the place where adulterers must go
None of us admit he is a hypocrite as we all know
For he has slept with every woman in the front row.
But, even still my pig’s feet goes from hot to cold
No matter how many ties for him I’ve sewn.
Some women have all the luck
Others like me can’t even get a look-let alone a touch
Being me, ah yes, it is too much.

Sister “Gossip” waves her fan as I go past
“Speak out loud?” would be too much to ask.
I wonder if it is my skirt that is too tight
Or whether I will be at home alone again tonight
I wonder if whatever she says about me is worth a fight
Or is it even true and right.
I pray for her soul with all my might,
I can’t let the Devil move into my mind.

People tell me I sing like a bird
Its gospel time, time to praise the Lord with words
I walk on stage to take my turn
Hands sway from side to side and my throat burns…
But the men stare at the teenager in the short skirt
And the first lady with the red dress
My curves ripple my stomach
For I am not that blessed
I have what a man wants to hear
But to lye beside me is what they all fear.

The service offered nothing by way of encouragement.
But, I have worshiped God
Even if the day was not heaven sent
I know somehow it must be time well spent.
I kiss the little children good-bye
And pretend all is joyous on the inside.
Satin-Legs Smith walks pass the church and sighs
We all know what is on his mind
Therefore though I dream of marriage he doesn’t give me the time.
He looks at me winks and a little smile.
He would only laugh if I asked him to come eat with me
For a little while.

I hang my coat in the closet
Beside a dusty wedding dress
I was wishful thinking when I bought it.
It is four sizes to small
I had planned to shrink into it by last fall.
But, too much time passed and I can’t even return it to the mall.
I can’t bring myself to put it in the trash down the hall.
I may use it for curtains or to cover the dirt stains on my front wall.

I lay myself down to sleep
And pray to the Lord my soul to keep.
And that I do not die before love I see
It is enough to at least give me hopeful dreams.

Monday comes and I have to go off to clean
For rich white people who don’t need anything.
Except for J. Alfred Prufrock
He lives on top 
Of the food chain
But he too is looking for love
We’re both the same.
He always looks at me like he has something to say
But he can’t get past his bald spot or the creases on his face.
Again I wonder should I do the flirting dance
Let him know I am available and that I can
And I will, so he will take a chance
I know he would be willing to love me still
I am not settling for second best!
He is a man!
I am a woman!
Shouldn’t we make love manifest?

I think I will give it a go
And see if I could be someone he would come to know
A fine meal some sweet potatoes and a roast
A pan of peach cobbler, such things men love the most.
I will make his house squeaky clean
Show him what he could expect if he married me.
I drive up and he is at his window
Watching his neighbors come and go
Eavesdropping on their conversations
About Michaelangelo.
And he is reading a book, Dante’s “Inferno”

“Is this for me?” when he sees the plate of food.
I nod yes and hope it gets him in the mood
He smiles, blushes and turns red.
All sorts of happy thoughts run through my head.
But still he only eats and does not speak
It seems the asking will be up to me. 
But what do I say for I do not wish to be
Considered by him, a hussy.
I ask him if he likes the movies.
He tells me he prefers plays
“I have never been to one” I say.
“Maybe I shall take you to one someday.”	
“And I will make you a German Chocolate cake.”
“I guess then it is a date.”

How should I wear my hair?  Should I sport an afro?
Or get a perm?  This is the time to use all those make up tips that I learned.
It seems I will feel the joy of being an Eve.
The birds are singing just for me.
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming.

Will they be putting Prufrock on my tomb stone
If I do this right I won’t die alone…

Copyright © Tyshawn Knight

Details | Ballad | |

To Whom It May Concern

I walk with a silence to my step,
as if in reality they never took place.
A shadow cast upon what has been done,
evidence misplaced.
Seconds merge into minutes, minutes which remain endless.
Days stand without weeks moments reign endless.
Does the mind play tricks, or do the thoughts stay mine.
Without word spoken, whispered from lips to allowing ears,
lies the moments experienced within the years.

Copyright © Gerald Moise

Details | Ballad | |

Poetry Soup

Since joining just yesterday,
I have not had much to say,
As I sit here idle,
Waiting for a title,
I watch as you pass my way,

I am honored to be here,
While a select few may jeer,
Mostly I can see hope,
From the end of my rope,
Bringing about a joyous tear,

For all poets who have been called,
Disenchanted or enthralled,
Our mission always true,
We inform and move you,
To make you act or make you halt,

To rise above and expound the truth,
Or to lose ourselves in a groove,
Whether blatent or far out,
We live to learn - live to shout,
About love, laughter or the blues,

For although I may be new,
To this small poetic group,
I see what you've built,
With talent and skill,
Namely this Poetry Soup,

Copyright © My Gull Wheels On

Details | Ballad | |

If the world were full of hippies

If the world were full of hippies
there'd be nothing left to prove
except peace and understanding
and a little bit of groove

Noone would be homeless
Like many live today
We'd build beautiful communes
where anyone could stay

Together we'd make music
to the beat of mother earth
there'd be no fighting or war
Everyone sharing equal worth

We'd grow our own vegetables
 and create trinkets to sell
We'd open up our minds
break free from our shell

Every colour and every race
would teach one another
we'd become a united family
every sister, every brother

We'd bless all gods creatures
show respect for the land
Give free hugs to everyone
openminded to understand

Nature would speak to us
Our world would become one
with peace and understanding
and a little bit of fun

Copyright © Rachel-erika Henderson

Details | Ballad | |

Rabid Believers

The track marks are exposed, so you’ll have to look twice without getting caught. Your mind starts to wonder what it is he’s been shot full of, Cocaine?  Gasoline and formaldehyde?  Fabric softener or blue ne high. You’ll have to swallow hard because your throat’s gone dry from the bone dust. Reality is a broken jar of afterbirth, no longer able to contain the past remnants of truth, and shame… leaking all over the shag carpet. Spilling behind the couch into the cracks in the walls. Everyone can see the cigarette burns in the drapes. The neighbors are complaining about the sound of braking glass. Your smile’s gone cold and grey. The lines in your face run deep as wood grain and as smooth as a razor canoe on a river of flesh. You’ve taken shelter in the dry hardened shell of yesterday’s corpse. The sound track to your dreams are of rusty things that scream and clang, and “never mind” is the only thing that follows when you speak your mind in bits and pieces.  Father, bless this child of sin. Consume her eyes and salvage her skin. Drape it across her mother’s face to bind and hold the tears in.  The sweet nectar of heaven drips down from the trees onto your brow, anointed, salvation….religious disease.  I don’t deny these things in my life that I can’t quite grasp, cold winds, locust song, and haunting gasps. Invoke your true self in the blood without fear. My smile’s a scalpel across your eyes. There’s no denying these things that dwell within your bones.

Copyright © Pauly Plaster J.R.

Details | Ballad | |

What are your Words of Poetry meant for Oh Sage

The wrothful man has regotiated his saliency,
The humble man has neglected his post of "Your Excellency",
Let the pirate look through my one eye of transpareency,
Hope my superman sings along to those dracula's frequencies,
These are not Bulls written in pure fantasy,
Our fleur-de-lis and its very ecstacy,
Not meant for agilely minded Perverts,
Spliffs meant for Godly minds,exhalling Wisdom and Truth.. Selah

Reading to the salient ears of age,
Your teeth gleaning this vast ears of corn,
Seeing men's rage shorten their years,
Or what your ladies who smiled at my no-beard-style have become,
Easy skanking is what my ears hear,
A tip of God given talents,
Many a quail showering my Sweet Heart with "Works so excellent",
God breathes his creative spirit to minds We call "Salient", Selah

Copyright © Anthony Edmond

Details | Ballad | |

In The depth of the heart

If you were, to look deep inside of my eyes, 
Look past, my faults and imperfections. 
Look past all that seems confusing and different. 
You could see my heart, and if you look even closer, 
You may fall in love with all that,
I could be and all that I have already become. 
You could grow with me, You could understand me, 
and you could embrace beauty that is deeper than the outer shell. 
Slowly, you could love every inch of my being. 
And appreciate Every breath that we have taken together. 
Once you have fallen in love with my soul, 
Then you have truly loved me. 
You see, my outer appearance will change,
and I may begin to look different as the years, pass by.
If you have fallen in love with my spirit, my heart. 
This will not change your love for me. 
When you have learned to love me, for what is inside of me, 
We have made it, and can dance through this life together. 
And as long as you stand near me through this life, I can live. I can breath and I can learn. 
When this is found this is Love! Beauty is only measured from within. 
Looks will fade on the outside, However, 
always be found again when someone looks deep inside your eyes!
 Time doesn't change that beauty, it is a gift!

Copyright © Sarah Bowman

Details | Ballad | |

Should i wait or are you here

Should one be took for granted?
Should the heart broken be to blamed?
Should this girl be cold with nothing nor anyone to hold to warm up?
Should I be forgotten?

Wearing this fake smile wishing to be dead
Wondering if these words are best to describe
Tears stained upon my face

Wishing someone could just love her the way she is
This is me 
This is who I am
Race is not the matter to my eyes

The words
The eyes
The way he speaks

Come my knight 
Be with me 
Warm me
Make this smile real
Kiss me like you'll go though I know you will leave after the sex

Create my image
Don't treat me as a little girl 
Please come and kiss me

Copyright © lone wolf mystery

Details | Ballad | |

heart of pain

heart of pain , words of sorrow, been there mate, no tomorrow, get back on the horse, yes that's right, walk tall babe, through the lonely night! get some strength, just steal or borrow:) it's alright.... thanks Brenda...Don Brian Strand Contest Name IMAGE any image theme/any form 2-14 lines |

Copyright © DON JOHNSON

Details | Ballad | |

I am

I am a child learning many new things,
I am into dimmonds and beautiful things,
I am loved,
I am cared for 
I am an adult,
I am recoving from abuse,and physical assult,
I am trusting,
I am gental,
I am mending in my heart,
I am helped by freinds,
I am making a new start.....
Thats just begining.....

Copyright © Jane Gulley

Details | Ballad | |


Round and sweet
     it enters your
     you are transformed
Heart pounding - 
         vibrating lights and 
        It seems that our
     will now see the 
      that it must see
if we are to continue 
       in this way
  Let's not remove the
dawn from our lives
    we'll be happy once
    surrounded by moving shadows
Night's dark cloak
has faded
Greet the new day
with the marvelous
colors of orange

Copyright © Matthew Anish

Details | Ballad | |

My crazy cousin

My crazy Cousin.

My cousin calls me crazy poet
Cause I don’t think like others
I’ve not seen her since she was three
A Flower girl to us lovers
When we got wed in sixty five
But now we write and all
Oh lord, we two are so alike
It’s just remarkable.

In eight weeks time, she’s coming here
To good old western Oz
I know we’re going to get on well
I do, and that’s because
That girl is crazy just like me
And she likes a good old laugh
She seems to be a grand old bird
I’ll say on her behalf.

She’ll bring her man, and son with her
They’re all creative folk
She can paint and write as well
And boy, it is no joke
The kind of talent that they have
It will be a joy to me
To meet up with forgotten kin
I can’t wait for this to be.

11 August 2013 @ 1813hrs.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |

My Cousin Alf

Written by my Cousin Susan Northwood who thinks she cannot write. She wrote this poem for me. pleaser let her know that she can write very well, she is also an excellent artist. By the way, I am back from my holiday, and glad to be back with you all.

My cousin  Alf.

Whilst searching on the net one day
A name jumped out on me
Peter Duggan, as he is known
My cousin, that he be.
A crazy man, a writer too
Speaks his mind, I kid not you
He loves to argue, and debate
Gossip, and trivia, he does so hate.

He wrote me emails, all the time
And many poems in rhythm, and rhyme
His words were calming, made sense to me
Helped my fears,and anxieties.
Life for him had not been kind
Bullied, beaten, and a troubled mind
But here he was, helping me
With all my anger, that He could see

As time did pass, my life got better
Thanks to him, and all his letters
Back and forth, we wrote like mad
Happy laughing, and sometimes sad.
Now here in Oz, I've come to see
My cousin, and his family
Yes he's just how I imagined
Loves all life, and writes with passion.

He argues, talks, and often shouts
Sings, and laughs, but what about?
Yes, he's blunt, and can be rude
He'll shock you too, if you're a prude
But underneath his suit of armour
There stands a man, who's met his karma
All he wants is peace in in life
No more trouble. fights and strife.

There's many souls who cannot cope
With this loud, outspoken bloke
But I know where this man is from
He says it in his words and songs.
So for me he is not Peter
Or Billy, John or Ralph
He simply is my cousin 
Also known as Alf.

Written by Susan Northwood, for Peter Duggan.

Copyright © Peter Duggan

Details | Ballad | |

Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound

Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound on my drumes i like to pound. 
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i think it has a very cool sound. 
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i would love to here it going around. 
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound don't let it turn your smile into a frown. 
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound here there where ever i am found in the sky or on the ground. 
Bubba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound i am so glad JESUS CHRIST  i have found. Bubba bubba bound Bubba bound and heaven someday i am bound. 
Buba bubba bound Bubba bubba bound.

Copyright © craig schaber

Details | Ballad | |


Green lush of green 
lush green is green
a leaf of language 
a branch of word 
a flagstone steps 

Heart of the earth is free, 
white flowers
Clean heart, 
fine arts literature
sketching art 
arable land 
planting gratitude

Green is nature 
cool breeze 
citing cloud 
loyal heart 
clarity of thinking 
for the future!

Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |

Star-Gazed Nostalgia

Lets climb up that old tree, 
make the clouds disappear. 
Let’s climb up that old, lemon colored tree, 
make the rain clouds disappear.

Rough wood, and a rickety ladder,
White christmas lights trim the slumping roof
over a few branches 
and we're crawling-
through the doors 
of a star-gazing tree house
 full of nostalgia. 

Sounds of traffic, cross walk conversations 
Trotting past that old jazz bar, 
a mexican family arguing on the stoops, 
funny how an unknown language 
can still make sense on the inside.
the mother gestures her son upstairs to sleep, 

But my world’s only waking. 
There’s a party up ahead. 
and there’s something ‘bout the nights’ breeze
blowing off the cars and into the trees. 
its Got my heart singing about this new love I’ve found.

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs

Details | Ballad | |


Torrent wind eye of cortin raise to a wake myocardial infarction what cause the heart to still beat

Copyright © Louis Borgo

Details | Ballad | |

A Shared Dream

Chills of comfort
as smooth as skin 
grazing grey stones. 

In the next room-
technology is hard at work
churning, turning
while the guitar gently rifts. 

Harsh winds are whipping, 
we are lying 
above a pale yellow floor
across a hazy tundra.

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs

Details | Ballad | |


Let's opinion be different so there is story
I do not like to air criticism
I just only like to ask
And the question itself will be criticism
Criticism on people who were asked
If to ask would be more prudent
Criticism is quite violent
I am so afraid of violence
I have to use the technique
Technique to ask with its critique 
And that is certainly more painful
Like a snake that run along quiet
But the extract of poison is very painful
I also laughed when criticism aired among
True indeed… 


Oleh Neldy Jolo

Biarkan pendapat itu berbeza jadi ada cerita
Aku tidak suka berkritik
Aku suka sahaja betanya
Dan pertanyaan itu sendiri akan jadi kritikan 
Kritikan pada orang yang ditanya
Kalau bertanya akan lebih berhemah
Mengkritik itu agak keras 
Aku sangat takut kekerasan
Aku kena menggunakan teknik
Teknik bertanya dengan kritikan bersamanya
Dan yang pastinya itu lebih pedih
Ibarat ular yang menyusur tenang
Tetapi bisanya sangat pedih
Aku juga tertawa bila berkritikan sesama
Benar belaka…

Wednesday, 20 March 2013, 4:59 PM
Let US All Save Peace. Ilyimy. Layag Sug!
Puisi hasil perkongsian cerita dengan Cikgu Ezza Fazlina Jamlidi

Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |


Read that
Aw, made me blush
You didn’t got my way to write a poem
Same thing I did to Lontie
That’s why I kept on asking you
Read here
Sulu Sail there
Indeed, you read it?
Yes, you know what?
I don’t know, what is it
You know the entire time that I was mocking you 
And yet you still have cornered me with your charm.
What do you think of that poem?
Charming, you really know your way to my heart no?
I love the poem I wrote because someone is inside it.
Was there any poem you have written without anyone in it?
Yes, but in this poem is only you is that someone
One poem of me then
Indeed this is the poem for you
Who has the most numbers of poems who have written about?
I mean, you have written about
No one except my life and journey
And right now this poem is you
What contains in my poems is my journey in life
But personified by moment
So to whom is that ilyimy line then?
Iloveyouimissyou that is for you!
Go, you're a flirt!
Isn’t it cute?
Lost for words as always
What do you mean?
No one has ever written a poem about me, but you.
My pleasure!

1:53AM, 9 March 2013
Sandakan, Sabah Malaysia

Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |


I dreamed in a dream
I walked through an island
An island full of fruits and flowers
Its dazzling scenic view
Mesmerized me
I woke up in that dream
And the dream still a dream
But that dream is reality
Now I am eating Durian
But still a dream
Before I forget
Those flowers are you!


Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |

Fire in the sea

I am fire in the sea, look at me.
I am fire in the sea.
I am shooting flames,
that can not be overwhelmed by the waters.
I am fire in the sea, look at me.
I am the ember 'neath the waves
can't you see?
glowing there like a starfish, let it be.
I'm so bright, could blind your eyes
don't look away.
The ocean wind blows in your hair,
what's there to say.
The wind blows,and the flames whip the air.
There's a crackle, hiss of foam,
try not to care.
If you do you might cry, so let it be.
I am fire in the sea, look at me.
there's a place 'neath the sea foam where I go,
so deep none can find me, no one knows.
It's the darkest part of my soul I do not show.
I am there beneath the waves where no one goes.
I am fire in the sea, look at me.
I am fire in the sea,
I am shooting flames that cannot be overwhelmed by the waters.
I am fire in the sea, look at me.

Copyright © richard michael

Details | Ballad | |


I love you Anak. Allah knows that.
There would be a time,
You would feel how the love of your Ayah.
His love to you is eternal
I never had a quality hug of you.
You cry when seeing me because of the things said to you.
The things which you never understood what really happened.
You became the victim of selfish pride of individual.
Someone who does not care of the spirit of humanity and love.
Sooner or later you would be in my bosom.
Take care my Queen.
Allah is with you. I miss so much. 
Let me hug you from the distance.

Dedicated to my daughter, Ratu.

Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |


I have been running to the meadows..
I tried to chase the rear shadows...
Wanting to valiantly join the show..
Magnifying beauty in a dance flow..

Melancholic is the chosen first beat..
I sway my body following my feet..
I stand; crawl and sometimes sit..
Unaware of the beginning felt heat..

When finish, all seem to marvel..
Awed and entertained applause fell..
Suddenly, there's the ringing of a bell..
Symbolizing start of another music roaring well..

Dancing dancing...
hands holding..
hips swinging..
arms bending..


by: olive_eloi

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo

Details | Ballad | |


I colonize to unite, they colonize to divide
It is time to return the union of the archipelago
To unite the community through dinar and dirham
The colonizers colonized our homeland
Through divide-and-rule tactics at hand 
To colonize the colonizers should be done
Through unite-and-rule tactics must become 
I love you freedom!

Copyright © Neldy Jolo

Details | Ballad | |

The Long Way Home

trotting across my back field
there’s a storm brewing-in
it’s misty friend is climbing 
through the cold, prickly wires

Delicately drenched, 
as wet as 
a dog’s kiss,
there’s a-storm brewing-in
it’s casual pal is breezing-
bothering the wicker trees.

his smile- 
brightens my mind 
like the italian renaissance.
inhaling red tipped 
we chat under the glistening leaves. 

But there’s a storm brewing-in
it’s hamper full dirty laundry
is drying-
stringing across my back yard. 

his laugh-
is as pleasing 
as old dogs learning new tricks.
Just one more outburst, 
and I swear this storm will turn to stone. 

I bask-
his attention is as gratifying 
as a masters gentle stroke
just one more round of 
darting eyes and light hearted jokes.

I realize now, 
He grumpiness does best
to protect what’s raw and rare-
from the snakes who try to tear us away from home.

Like stumpy cigarettes, 
hanging off the tips 
of tough our lips. 
we’ll share each other’s worlds.
Yes, Like stumpy cigarettes, 
hanging off the tips 
of tough our lips.
let’s melt into each other’s worlds.

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs

Details | Ballad | |


Walking alone is deep.
I want to savour this nature.
I imagined this colonial structure. 

How do people live those times?
I don't mind of being under colony.
But I would fight not to be under tyranny. 

Suluk is part of Sandakan development.
William Pryer lives with them.
That modern "Jalan Pryer" is incorrect.
Coincide with the original "Jalan Praya" as it is believed. 

This building is of colonial.
That blue sky with twigs dye.
I walked alone and pass by.

Wind is blowing.
Car is horning.
I walked in the morning.
I missed this jogging. 

It's been a decade I did running.
Now I want to do it again. 
I want to achieve something.
Something is not a thing,
But a way a healing thing.

Happy Sunday for today, 
I did to jog yesterday.
I want it done every day.
I won't let that go away.

I hope so I will do it really. 
Good morning Sunday.
I love you every day.
Layag Sug!

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