These words
Are my second lease

As all art
Is an unknown constant

In a life which thrives
On monotony
Soon disturbed
By beauty unseen,

Where backseats
Narrate this dream
Just seeing outside
Become vessels

After witnessing sights
Still enduring
Like industrial towns
Growing old –

Now awake
Behind faded facades,

But hidden from glass
Partly shattered,

Obscuring what past
Appears sleeping
Though it echoes
Between empty walls

How history speaks
Secret breaths
Concealing our truths
Rarely painted

Except through lines
Seizing moments
Across canvas
Poetically stroked.

Can experience
Color our brush
Enough for each term
To hold meaning,

Awaiting that muse
Always wishing
Another good phrase
Might exist?

Inspiration
Never quite lasts

While such time
Forces real feelings,

If fearing death
Like those landmarks

Yet preserved
When capturing verse.

• J. Pigno