Yes, I’m afraid
You’re right –
There is no pride
In my talents,

Or worth which means
Making money
For those who dare
Never work

Yet cannot feel
Besides words
Still eluding dreams
Within limits

Of tangible lives
Better suited
To hearts that can’t
Take the blame.

Such hope will kill
Every line
Demanding pain
Speak its passions,

Suffering verse
Losing blessings
By walking away
When they hurt

And spitting on God
As some must
While praying inside
His forgiveness

May allow more ink
Spilling over
Beneath such veins
Fear has split –

Feigning belief
Barely known
And awaiting death
Turning pages

Any average soul
Keeps withstanding
Fighting what’s fake
Through one voice.

Our reality hits
Pretty hard
Where poetry stands
Against reason –

Another bad phrase
So inspired
But purposeless now
Like this gift.

• J. Pigno