I believe in a dream
Grown complacent,

How lesser men
Win by exception,

Through ways which fail
Every value
This world insists
Is sincere –

Like some sinner
Now swearing his demons
Have become
Fallen angels forgiven
By breaking walls
Making prisons
From standard lies
We accept.

That heaven
Still shits on us all –

Hailing judgment
Like excrement pouring
Off distant clouds
Always looming
Despite our tries
Playing nice.

I pity those
Needing its rains.

I’m ecstatic
With sunlight defiant,

Burning me up
Through indifference
And doubts
Just drying these fears

Where words remain
Openly stated
Across long lives
Choosing madness
Beyond false gods
Finding errors
Among lost souls
Who will write.

Triumph means
Willingly dying –

Leaving lines
Much louder on paper,

Silently bold,
Sharing wisdoms
No normal mind
Would perceive.

Get angry,
But stay very quiet,

Let them think
Your peace was agreement –

While idleness thrives
Yielding torment
Empty pages
Could only enjoy.

Suffer each prayer
Towards creation.

Art must express
Feeling broken.

Otherwise,
Cheat if required,

Though bending rules
Should suffice.

• J. Pigno