I’ll admit that death
Is scary
In the sense
It serves some purpose
And confess
My limited knowledge
Assumes these words
Hold weight

When their answer
Does insist
Paper lasts
Where meaning doesn’t
And procedure
Offers little
But our standard
Rate of loss

By defining fate
Through terms
Soon expired
When explaining
How these legacies
Gain exposure
While revealing
Nothing waits

For this author
Bound and gagged
From deciding
He’s expended
Too much effort
Seeking solace
Between verses
Left behind

Learning fast
No poem written
Could deliver him
Such interest
Keeping faith
If God extended
Shorter lifespans
Through that work –

Now a fear
Become routine
Since resisting
All these phrases
Coming closer
To what dream
I did expect

Was the choice
Which nearly robs
Every memory
From existence
Seizing lines
As pure potential
Trading moments
For each verse

Digging graves
I pray will speak
Without telling
Empty secrets
Just their truth
Which isn’t special
Running willing
Towards my end.

– J. Pigno

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