There was a time
I’d wake
For reasons
Other than
Sharing

This experience
Partially wasted
On the fact
Its already
Gone

Or caring
As we insist
For moments
Passed
Without notice

Telling us
Joy is fleeting
And pain
That lingering
Ghost

Of memories
Sorely missed
Like forevers
Lost
In an instant

When presence
Eludes our senses
For the sake
Such days
Stay put

Along measures
Written by men
And the lives
They build
Growing desperate

Seizing
Their pictures perfect
Expressed
As years
Through a phrase

As I write
Each dream
That remains
Upon finding clues
Which are missing

Between clouds
And scattered sunlight
Among heavens
Gray
From ash

That demands
These words
Burn fast
So my verse
Is always threatened

By the fact
Such smoke
Is shadows
Of an end
Which cannot wait

For terms
To take my place
As this fate
Of mere
Expression

Knowing
I hardly harbor
Any poetry
Left
To spare

Speaking
Counted breaths
If my heart
Which beats
Should manage

To seize
Just one more second
Of a date
That’s made
With verse.

– J. Pigno