Delicate
isn’t my name
and yet I am moved
by the imbecile
gently led by his father
down the street
while screaming songs
at the top of his head
I am moved
by a white cloud
standing still
over the city
like a gentle threat
I am moved
by your breath
gently lifting the sheets
deep in the night
when I can’t sleep
Yes delicate things
move me deeply
and confirm
the rage hidden
at the core of my words
The rage of impotence,
hope and rebellion
– but not despair
Despair, you see,
is too delicate
for me
EL SEBBO
disposable poetry 
beautiful.
You really pushed the envelope with this one. Excellent, if I do say so myself–purely modern. It’s amazing how poetry can give voice to anything. Kudos on the site.
Cheers
Pascal
i love it.
beautiful enough to sing these words.