These words
Which no one
Reads
Hold the meaning
I leave behind

Forcing me
To consider
If that’s even
Really life
At all

Or a fact
Of losing sleep
When believing
Still
There is purpose

From agreeing
God
Has an answer
Just ready to spill
As it comes

Dangling loose
Over sheets
Still blank
While the pen
Stays waiting

For a chance
This poem suffers
And breathes
What hurt
It will cost

To release
Such varying stakes
Through phrases
Shared
In the gamble

Of margins
Dared
So merciless
Their empty space
Can kill

With dreams
No man can waste
If spoken
True
As depicted

By an image
Mad
There are feelings
Art cannot easily
Share.

– J. Pigno