The honor
In not being heard
Is acceptance
Of feeling irrelevant
And bestowed with guilt
Out of willingness
To not matter much
Though I try

Until poetry
Never quite falls
Like miraculous stars
Become lazy
Now seized by hands
After hitting
That ground so old
Losing worth

Searching sands
For remnants intact
Where soulless rocks
Replace meteors
Which once held truths
Shining brighter
Than their nightly skies
Grown obscured

Over deserts
That widen from age
Fearing empty dunes
Replace meaning
Or cavernous holes
Consume pretense
In an honest maw
Lacking voice

When few ears
Are listening still
Though some eyes
Catch glimpses apparent
But are often missed
Despite staring
Beyond endless voids
Seeming vague

Unless living
Such subtle defeat
Under open words
Hiding chasms
How this visible rift
Left between them
Has always been
So ignored.

• J. Pigno