I am a man
Of faith
Which means that
There is no coincidence
Except what
Circumstance beckons
These doubtful lines
Over fear.

How words still fail
Every dream
My more innocent mind
Believed valid
Despite such years
Spent pursuing
All the empty leads
Without proof

Where miracles fade
When we touch
Their tangible gifts
Going missing,
So rarely sought
After aging
Since getting old means
Falling ill

By feeling sick
In our heads
After being told work
Can achieve them
Proving efforts earn
Almost nothing
But jaded eyes
Losing sight –

Obscuring God
Through success
While focusing now
On achievement
Rather than life’s
Subtle angels
Who comfort souls
Growing weak

And inspire art
Beyond grief
Yielding beauty
Outside this perception
Nearly killed
From daily obsessions
Like aggression forced
To survive.

It is gesture
Destined by verse
Showing heaven exists
Between margins
As writers churn out
Sullen wisdoms
Merely sharing truths
Most neglect,

Choosing voices
Few barely hear
Though discerning tales
Fate imagines
Are better spent
Speaking surprises
Only hidden
If being closed off.

• J. Pigno