I’d often think
Terrible things,

Like imagining death
In that instance
When no one’s around
And it’s quiet –

Just peaceful enough
To feel scared.

There wouldn’t be
Calling for help,

Hearing family’s tears
During passage

Towards an unknown risk
Which awaits me
After living so long
In this shell,

But judgment’s breath
Filling air
While clouding lungs
Soon expired
Amid silent ghosts
Always watching
Between crowded walls
Become home.

Such fear
Means nirvana exists
Beyond false hopes
Of our choosing –

Simple pleasures
Leaving us empty,

Hands with cash
Buying sins,

Never satisfied
Clawing at whims
Since forgetting needs
Remain useless
If faith finds God
Going missing
Over decades spent
Losing hope.

Ironically,
Happiness sits
Outside failed dreams
Chasing wishes
Men’s labors make
Appear futile
Tricking flesh
Through working too hard.

Having heart
Seems very unfair
Until skipping beats
Surface daily,

Telling plainly
Mortality beckons,

Quickly wondering
“Why suffer more?”

Whether heaven
Or hell does await,
My anxieties grow
Oddly neutral –

Those horrors
Bring miserable solace,

Every vision
Yields cathartic relief.

• J. Pigno