I’m off in my
Lazy meadow
Where negligence
Passes
For green

And tired
Is weary discretion
To determine
Waste
As the view

Where sullenness
Finds its grace
From idleness
Bearing
All meaning

Through breezes
Blowing transparent
Carrying fate
On their
Winds

With vague
But noticed disgrace
Amid fields
So oddly
Accustomed

To flowers
Marked
By their colors
Of petals lost
Among stems –

These plants
Of gorgeous disdain
Displayed with shame
For their
Beauty

Still shining bright
In the daylight
When clouds
Will come
As this test

Upon heavens
Barely awake
Now fallen
Fast
As predicted

By tempests
Raining
Their thunder
Like angry storms
Needing rest

Or pouring out truths
From the past
Across valleys
Made
For distraction

As sudden gales
Unpredicted
Go telling
Tales
That I wrecked

Within stupid dreams
Unfulfilled
Like an innocent
Sun
Growing guilty

Rising quick
For that moment
But setting
Slow
When it counts.

– J. Pigno