Winning at all
Is an illness
Which never quite
Heals
Once you taste it,

That’s why
My strength
Has been failure
And the truth
These words still pursue –

Not performed
But artistry made
As identity
Bared
Through experience

Of each earned
But well-meaning
Tragedy
Gleaned through loss
On repeat

To assume how
God doesn’t share
These blessings
Well
With resistance

When attention
Draws
Greater danger
While defying those
Who will play.

Whether wrong
Or successfully poor
This poetry
Heals
Every callous

Only idleness
Builds from exposure
By avoiding
Sports
They enjoy,

Planning death
Since being alive
Like our irony
Found
Seeking subtext

Watching egos
Clash
Chasing victory
Just waiting for pain
Unexpressed.

• J. Pigno