Tenderness Is A Privilege Of Few
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
I can't let you die, I can't, I am sorry
The only thing I may do for you is to allow me not to exist anymore
What I was, the one you knew has to be choked off
Despite my awkward attempt to survive with you
I do recognise that I don't deserve your memory
Stunned by the revelation I wander in despair
Still and frozen my mind learns your thoughts by heart
Is that everything lost?
And then mist in my dreams, your gaze weird moved by compassion
Does it mean that you felt my pain?
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
I don't fear either the blame or the damnation
The world is mean enough with or without my version of events
I won't be going overboard for trying
I will always fiercely protect my low river
And I'm really pissed off at all these faces in mourning
Being so called reputable is not my priority anymore, if ever it was
People are often sidetracked by appearances
I want to be gentle and decent
I need to be authentically in love with Humanity
I need to care for its destiny, to pray for redemption
Name the violence and her sons
A sort of callousness enshrouds us
Harsh words friendly support bitter behaviours
And tenderness is a privilege of few
poem by Ilaria Boffa
Added by Poetry Lover
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