Something Real

How happiness
Steals our words
In ways no pain
Can fathom
While boredom
Removes all reason
For existing
Beyond this pen,

As suffering
Nourishes faith
To elicit
Substantial purpose
Which provides us
Colorful language
Only passion
Could ever evoke

Since conjuring
Something real
Across each page
In waiting
Means creating verse
Bearing substance
If the feelings prove
Too strong.

Even fantasies
Always agree
That losing sleep
Is required
So bleeding out
Becomes special
And reality
Smothers each dream,

Waking up
Besides more threats
Making daylight
An enemy gleaming
Choosing sunshine
Over more darkness
Leaving tragedy
Easily seen.

Trauma lives
Through loves unfair
Like breath long gone
During kisses
Building phrases
Upon those moments
Quickly passing
Without much thought,

Failing senses
Fleeting at best
Disconnecting now
From forever
Held between these joys
Growing empty
Among chapters
Writing themselves

By meeting lies
Creeping close
Behind poems
Such comfort excuses
Pushing fallen truths
Beneath footsteps
Treading honesty
Thinner than glass.

  • J. Pigno

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