These hours
Drenched in sleep
Are the eyes’
Most sad reflection
Of days spent
Dreaming nothing
Behind what door
Stays closed

As if such sheets
Could speak
From tears absorbed
Within them
By memories
Losing sequence
Between old pillows

Across this mattress
Where years
Through fading sunlight
Form pools
To dangle respite
Simply passing
Time not had

Like hope sought
Fairly close
Beneath our lives
Still resting
Without answers
Losing meaning
Though we gasp

For breath held
Long at night
During comas
God intended
Spell depression
While resisting
Waking soundly
Come each dawn

Finding slumber
Has its price
Choosing leisure
Over pleasure
Taking solace
Killing purpose
Upon learning
Work is death

With little reason
To dwell among
Those ruins
Seeing action
Hinder progress
As we conjure
Idle threats

Snoozing late
Like quiet bombs
Lazy soldiers
Making exits
Facing failure
All too easy
If that triumph
Means we nap.

– J. Pigno

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