There is much to be said
About trauma
Since it follows us home
Like a stranger
But ends up our friend
By accepting
There are angels in rooms
When we’re there

From appropriate scars
Without waste
For healing such wounds
Lacking witness
Other than eyes
Locking briefly
Before sharing their sights
Said aloud

Through bravest speech
Never placed
If waiting on space
Feeling welcome
Behind silent walls
Missing blessings
Once written outside
What was built

Beyond that shame
Undeserving
While hiding away
Almost always
Where proudest hurt
Deserves fanfares
So healing begins
Yet again

When another soul
Grasps at this soil
Pulling up truth
Beneath torment
Under buried beliefs
Merely mourning
Alone among thoughts
Pain imposed

Until light up above
Appears close
Taking faintest of shapes
Showing faces
Still staring right back
Also damaged
Yet conquering graves
Using prayers.

• J. Pigno