Why do I try
And mend
What’s beautiful
For being broken
At request of a world
Less fortunate
Than ones
Who see past
Its shit?

Cause nothing
Worth playing God
Is normal
Or nearly straightforward
As fallacies
Lining our pathways
Towards endings
Less boring
Than sin,

Concluding
As we begin
Revving
Our hearts
Without answers
Or promise
Of stunning conclusions
Awaiting in skies
Getting dark

Where fireworks
Better appear
Than brightest days
Proving empty
Like clearest dreams
Missing dangers
Ruining
What fun
We could have –

Making mistakes
As we must
Losing control
As intended
Finding no hope
In such actions
But letting
That faith
Guide us back

Inscribing night
With those stars
Which glitter and spark
From our damage
Through explosions
Colorfully dancing
Like statements
We claim
When they burst

As destinies
Fallen apart
Raining choice
Out of heavens
Over lifetimes
Apparently wasted
On cinders
Left burning
With hurt.

That spark
Is never convinced
But assumes its gift
Is potential
For making light
Across bridges
Too crowded
To offer them
Space,

This needless whole
Unredeemed
Which hinders
Joy
Growing distant
Among those clouds
Hiding embers
Stealing words
While we write.

– J. Pigno