I’ll never be
Noticed like them
As a man
Whose words
Stay remembered,

But in truth
That’s not what is
Needed
When attention
Muddles our voice –

Such honesty
Stemming from sweat
And ignored
Once more
Despite trying,

Always learning
Again
How inaction
Combined with hurt
Makes it real.

For such purity
Only exists
During moments
Life
Feels imperfect,

Finding belief
Where we falter
All alone
But blessed
Being wrong.

This transience
Offers no hope
Yet affirms
Lost art
Retains meaning,

Expressing faith
Soon expired
Like some daylight
Missed
After dark

Since happiness
Fades before long
If success
Just trades
Every failure

Seeking phrases
Hardly immortal
Not at least
Endured
Or enjoyed.

• J. Pigno