I write for my dream
Which dwindles
In the midst of these
Hopeless verses
Whose fears
Are a pending encounter
Beyond what life
Still remains,
Where agony means
Keeping peace
When days pass by
Without speaking
What urgent needs
Always fester
Holding feelings back
Very long
While emotion seems
Better dead
Than awaiting words
Never coming
Out of silent rage
Wishing sunlight
Were cloudy skies
Pouring faith
Over arid lands
Lacking truth
Growing empty lines
Missing purpose
Or blessed fruit
Bearing wishes
Yielding harvests
Nourishing souls –
Those sacred rains
Hailing tears
Only angels shed
If inspired
By doubting saints
Sitting vigil
As despair shows
How they will pray,
Merely idling
Tempering pain
Through secrets kept
Between notebooks
And demanding proof
Among messes
Their chaotic minds
Can believe
Renders beauty
Measured on whims
Seizing moments spent
Facing chances
Finding daily work
Provides nothing
Except further guilt
Wasting art
So easily killed
Shutting mouths
Losing every gift
God has granted
Leaving deepest thoughts
Across pages
Human eyes can read
But not share.
- J. Pigno
