No need
For fancy words
Just the pause
From raw emotion

Which comes when
Simply feeling
This world
As God intends

With rough
But honest joy
Of experience
In our being

Frail
As passing evening
Towards morning light
Which comes –

Each day
Within itself
As time
Surrenders moments

To their quick
And sudden passage
Like blood
Throughout our veins

Maintaining
Steady beats
As we hit that drum
Within us

Whose rhythm
Is often dancing
To the pulse
Of thirsty souls

Drinking
Rays of sun
As we wake once more
Impassioned

For the gift
Of living mirrors
Through art
Of heaven’s choice,

This soil
Our dirty brush
New skies
An open canvas

Fresh air
A different calling
Of scents
From new dawn’s birth

And richness
Daily ink
By action
Of these stories

From treasures
Once decided
As the plot
Such choices make

Finding worth
On high
Near the point
Of lowest entry

Like pages
Long forgotten
Beneath piles
Of missing work.

Our mind
Is best creating
What dreams
Are mere reflections

Of the faces
All so different
With roles
In one big book.

– J. Pigno