Best Poems About / On BALLAD
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The Gothic Ballad
I walk carelessly down the dark road
My heavy black boots constantly clicking
Clicking on the cold cement
My long black and velvet Trench coat
Billowing in the slight breeze
My Chest slightly rising under my tight corset
My chains on my pants jingling together
As I walk down this Moon lit road
Staring up at the midnight moon
This is the ballad
The ballad of the lost
Of the silent warriors
Of the people you pass by and call freaks
Of the people
Who will save your soul
For our souls are pure
Our souls sing this ballad
The ballad of the night
The ballad of the pure hearts
Ankoku Gekido
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I Hear Voices...
And from the graves, where names were carved in
stone, came a mournful Ballad, of life gone by.
A Ballad sang by mothers, whose children left behind,
and left to sing their ballads, of tears that did remain.
And what of Fathers Ballad, whose job was not complete,
who died and sang his song, of things that could not be.
In a smaller voices, still weeping and confused, the children
sang their Ballad, of parents never knew.
And in some far off place, a Ballad did come fourth, of all
the deaths that happened, that wasn't meant to be.
A soldiers painful Ballad, did seemed so unjust, of the
war that finally killed him, in a land he never knew.
The Ballad, of unknown, thou human, none the less,
were buried here alone, with not a one to care.
In the quiet of a cemetery morn, the Ballad of
the dead, echoes silently across green grass,
and through the granite stones.
It makes one wonder, about the Ballad of the dead,
and what will be our song...when we are finally gone.
© Joe Fazio
(brief renderings) Joe Fazio
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ballad of the black slave
This is the ballad of the black slave,
Who has been beaten and disgraced,
Who has been called the n-word and negro,
Who has received no pay.
This is the ballad of the black slave,
Who prays for freedom every night,
Who is going to rebel,
For what he thinks is right.
Now this is the ballad of the freed slave,
Who has seen much blood shed,
Who has fought for equal rights,
And who has won his freedom.
michael issac palmer
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The Ballad of the Working Slaves
The ballad of the working slaves plays out day and night. You can see it and hear it, but you cant stop it.
The ballad of the working slaves is ruled by greed and demand, you can feel it.
People in offices all over the country, kitchens, warehouses, shops, building sites and schools all over the world
Every where
There are people waiting on their wage
Waiting on the clock to strike the minute that will set them free.
This ballad is dull and oppressing. It ties us down with invisible chains.
Chains which lock away our freedom and deaden our imagination
Second by second, this keeps happening.
Its happening now
The only thing being created here is stress and profit
and profit wins out every time.
People slowly rot away into their jobs and become what they are not.
But its the game we play
The life we chose
The song we sing
And the ballad we all dance to
Nathan Strange
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