What hurt it is
To sleep
When fear
Is the dream which lasts
And continues well
Into daylight
Chasing each dawn
I’ve sought

As these headaches
Stunt my words
Through this night
Of throbbing penance
While my memory
Often fails me
In the sense
No morning comes

But continues
Waking death
For all pain
Remains unconscious
At that core
Of resting demons
Between bedsheets
Housing grief

Missing voice
But nothing more
Finding silence
Has its reasons
If our souls
Remaining quiet
Learn their place
Beneath that weight

Telling truths
No man admits
Till they break
With stuttered speeches
Tearing stars
Right out of orbit
Pulling moons
Into our midst

From those comets
Raining down
Speaking gifts
Of scattered heavens
Fallen skies
And distant planets
Proving fate
Is in their heads

Deep within
Each sullied mind
Begging dusk
Reveal some secrets
Though they turn
And shudder weakly
Just as darkness
Steals their breath

Like I’ve sworn
To always seize
If my phrase
Should surely linger
Beyond shadows
On these ceilings
Where this evening
Never ends.

– J. Pigno

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