The only fate
Worse
Than cursedness
Is being
Far too blessed

And owning such courage
To know this
While admitting
The rest
Have it rough,

As bearing
The rich kid’s burden
Was something
I learned
To live with

Each time
They were quick
To judge me
Without ever reading
My words –

For truth
Is never convincing
From materials
Built
For exchanges

But a spirit
Which rings eternally
From the echo
Of phrases
In ink,

When goods
Fall victim
To ages
Quicker than fiction
Grows heavenly

Upon eyes
Of readers interpreting
Those verses
As tangible
Chance

Denying money
For substance
And the problems
It turns
Into privilege

By sharing
What hopes I imagine
Are divisible
Equally
With God.

– J. Pigno