I’m not even
Going to try
To make this
Poem perfect

But convey
Through failed intention
What sincerity
Lifts my heart

From creation
Raw as need
With expression
Keen on filling

Such holes
Which open daily
When the walls
Begin to break

Where words
Remain unsaid
Between these
Quiet boundaries

And buffers
Plainly painted
So the colors
Speak too soft

Allow these
Empty sounds
To find their
Missing utterance

And connect
Like damaged phrases
Arranged as
Pictures new

With innocence
Torn apart
By imaginations
Golden

Assembled
From that sunshine
Of souls
Each morning wakes

To brilliant
Portraits made
Through bare
And startled fragments

Or verses
Cracked from anger
Sustained
By vivid dreams

Wishing
Early light
Was the source
Of purest feeling

To attain
That burning sliver
Of fantasy
Held within

Ruining
Death we have
By awaiting
Fate tomorrow

Betraying
Honest chances
For life
To last as long.

– J. Pigno