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A Poet's Tale

A Poet's Tale

A baby born without a word
just like the others were
But he'd never speak a single word
Distraught his parents were

They'd cry the first few years
until they saw their son
never noticed all their crying-
His hearing also none

Some are fated for much more
than they'd ever know
Saw the boy upon the floor
but near, they'd never go

Years all pass like they were-
like they're meant but he
He was never as they meant
Like the rest he'd never be

At the age of eight, he held his first
pen within his hands
Through what others called a curse,
his blessing had began

He wrote a page with all the ink
dripping from his mind
Through sweat, he wrote what he'd think-
what he'd been thinking all the time

He wrote a poem as quickly as
some people write their prose
The most natural thing he's ever had
as Nature never knows

what it drives some men to do
even when they're young
He might've been deaf and mute,
but he's not deaf and dumb

He'd write the pains and joys of not
to have to hear the world
To not to hear or heed the cries
of a homeless little girl

He'd write the joys to not be harmed
by his parents all the while
he'd write the pains to not be touched
when he was a child

He'd write the pain to not be heard
and how the wisest never speak
So much power in the words
of one so seemly meek

He was never as they meant-
like the rest he'd never be
Some are fated for much more
than one could ever see

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