I have purposely
Silenced my voice
After feeling these words
Become useless
Against constant fears
Always proven
Having pains
Travel down my left arm –

A relentless threat
Stealing meaning
From remaining lines
Missing passion
Once abundantly held
Deep inside me
Before science itself
Replaced God

And seeking relief
Never near
Or an answer in tests
Inconclusive
Like potential faith
Being stifled
By data we’ve gained
Needing hope,

Trading talent
For restless beliefs
With sleepless nights
More disturbing
Than any such hate
Thrown at writers
Still failing their craft
Every time

As tomorrow ensures
Shorter breaths
Despite empty saints
Getting worshipped
Where medical tools
Erect altars
To kill each muse
Growing dull

Yet save this shell
Drawing blanks
Knowing frequent aches
Martyr verses
So recklessly scared
Nothing matters
But jotting one phrase
Left behind.

Some poets
Become such defeat
Described through death
Quiet beckons
Since muffled speech
Assumes illness
Has muzzled what life
Once implied –

Attempting true art
While enthused
Now running away
After learning
Our hearts cannot last
Any longer
Demanding new blood
If there’s none.

• J. Pigno