On Journalism
I can't speak now. My mouth has been taped shut.
I can't move. I've been bound and tied to a chair.
I've had an unsettling feeling in my gut.
I'm a prisoner. I'm a captive held where
I can't snap the ropes binding my legs, my arms
Together. I can only wait for harm
That seems impending and close to approach. I
Can only be a hostage. I don't know why.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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