I’m the only one
Who walks
Near the precipice
Of death

Staring down
My Maker
As each judgement
Follows suit

Believing
Angry moons
Which guide this
Golden silence

With light
From evening shadows
Down paths
That take me home

Toward justice
Sorely missed
For those hearts
I’ve kept abandoned

Through hours
Passing quickly
Under heavens
Made of stars

Twinkling
Just so fast
Their truth
Is somehow frantic

As radiance
Pierces sharply
What darkness
Settles fate

Like buffers
Holding clouds
In failures
Raining frequent

Upon my pastures
Sinful
Across these
Arid lands

Where mountains
Bearing cliffs
Assume
Their rightful stature

Above
Those wilted grasses
And meadows
Turning tan

Eroding
Amber stone
While ridges
Aging slowly

Determine time
That festers
Beyond
My final stance

Fading
By each breath
I gasp
Without redemption

Atop
My jutting pinnacle
Crying
I may jump.

– J. Pigno