My Way Of Healing Poem by Pedro Cescon

(To Brooke)

Falling as a steel ball,
Helpless as a baby,
Have none to call,
All alone, maybe,

Tonight I was emptied,
My presence meant nothing,
Doesn't matter were I was headed,
Everyone I knew was lothing,

And for nothing I was needed,
For nothing I was counted,
No attention for me was conceded,
And I felt as being haunted,

And alone I stood,
Without shame or regret,
I never had the mood
To mourn or being fret,

But a hand came to me,
A hand of a friend of old,
And the reason would be,
Our bond didn't became cold,

For if you try enough hard,
The love you share will be repaid,
With respect, attention or regard,
Or with love being made,

As for that is my heal,
A need being put above,
Something I need for real,
Pure and irrestrict love