Hello my friend
The title of this Poem would be solely Rage….
Thinking in Dylan Thomas…. Rage, Rage against the dying of the light
In my case…. against the night
People that are the night itself , that have no sun but darkness inside
dressing up themselves as the sweet dew at morning,,,,
For their entire life
That is primitive … always inside and never evolved…
Primitive to hurt, to discriminate, to shout out, to put their hands around the neck and finally kill someone…
or kill totally within….
To fright … Has something more painful than fright?
Do you know how is it?
An autumn leaf at your last days but raging against the fall…..
stirring up , arousing the courage to fall down
For be kind or gentle has a massive price
Better kill, easy to kill
thinking that you are the truly tree and never the leaf….
But i am the rage itself
I am my words … that is mine and my only….
No one could claim for yourself what i originally write
or what derives from my grief
Rage on hands and on fingers….
To cast out, to put a spell … to revenge….
That is your Poetess …
being barbarian but in words and assuming
So bringing Dylan again….
Rage, Rage against the Night!!!!