Let these words
Be bullets of God
As I shoot my truths
From the hip

Spraying
That painted vengeance
With damages
Across this soul

Unleashing
A spoken fury
Like shells
Of loaded phrases

Ready
To conquer demons
By combat
Known as prose

Verses
Meant to lift
By affirming fate
Through action

Demanding
Simple pleasures
Which pull this trigger
Quick

To inspire
Poems grand
Or eternities
Briefly stated

Where love
Is wounded genius
Of a humble hurt
Which stings

Like art
As weaponized choice
Of the freedoms
Left inherent

By divinity
Whose expression
Was extension
Of that need

To grow
And feel redeemed
As unities
Lacking question

On a canvas
Now exploding
With colors
Made for joy

In language
Bloody red
From human tongues
Of fire

That spell
Their fading image
With an urgent
Sense of bliss –

Angry
Nothing lasts
As periods
Trail each sentence

Chasing
Tragic endings
Without ever
Knowing why.

– J. Pigno