All I can write
Are eulogies,

These prayers
Of implied expiration,

Between each line
Growing mortal
In the sense
Such poems take tolls –

How feelings alone
Appear cruel
When scrawled across notes
Barely noticed,

Inside my phone
Behind passwords
Hoping my wife
Could soon guess.

Some eyes bring
Fierce expectations
Upon what words
Remain hidden,

Until that day
Quickly follows
When few but our ills
Would expect

If feared
With its hastened approach
Though expressed
By honest affliction –

Indebted through art
Sorely lacking
Since missing beliefs
Facing death

Which trails
Behind every phrase,

Mocking presence
Increasingly precious,

Memories held close
Gaining meanings
Hindsight might yield
Even more.

Then fanfares blare
Among ruins
Scribbled at night
Where completed,

Watching her sleep
As this heartbeat
Starts to give way
Under stress –

Jotting down dreams
She recalls,

But for me seemed real
While together,

Falling now hard
Into darkness
Sharper than spite
Loss relates

After being so sick
Far too long
And accepting how fate
Tumbles gently
Off castle walls
Below heaven
Like towers we built
Seeking God.

• J. Pigno