Let this
River run dry
If it means
Our canvas

From memory
Washed in forever
Whose voice
Is the trickle
Which fades

As madness
Grows where it may
Like a waterfall
And reckless

What energies
Brimming with choices
Are oceans
Of talent
We waste

To deter
These moments
That change
All reasons
Life wouldn’t matter

If art were our
Fleeting distinction
Of each person
Through their chance

As phrases
Fake and ashamed
Or soliloquies
For practice

Among crowds
Whose lie
Is attentions
Unreliably fake
At their best

Pretend waves
Will move unnoticed
Like banks
On a shore
Still willing

When efforts
Ripe as their minute
Proves breathing
Since we laugh

Like a stream
Of time
Never steady
Over rocks
Resembling faces

Beneath channels
Caught between branches
Seeking love
And dirt
As they pass.

– J. Pigno

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