I get so damn
Excited
Since my heart
Wants to always
Stop

When the dream
Of pursuing meaning
Becomes
These words
Expressed –

Whether wrong
Or somehow clear
In their brief
And scattered
Rhythms

Still defined
Not by true answers
But what realm
God proves
Through verse,

Hanging value
On each space
Stuck between
Short lines
Uneven

Trading pauses
For salvation
If that phrase
Should move
One soul

Whose own vision
Seems unclear
Digging keys
Beneath
Those doorways

Finding choices
Never open
Broken handles
Called
Our gift.

Every artist
Knows how faith
Is a turning
Path
Towards freedom

After claiming
False surrender
Under rules
Instilled
From fear –

How all laws
Determine death
Hiding life
Behind
Old habits,

Altered only
With conveying
Conjured worlds
Where prisons
Speak.

– J. Pigno