I’m afraid
We’ll never see
Paradise
For one last trip
As intended

With dreams
Which hold
Blood and palm trees
Like veins of days
Better known

If going away
Where there’s sun
To remember
How life
Was expected

When hope
Had once
Meant existing
Through experience
Sharing that warmth –

Now idle again
Being home
Getting stuck
In here
Growing colder

By excluding joy
From our options
While screens
Fake years
Barely felt,

Not seeking change
But demands
Such illness
Begs
Killing reasons

Any further fate
Faced together
Should endure
What chill
Always blows

Towards windows
Shielding outside
Since love
Escapes
Even prisons

Called happier homes
Become cellblocks
Or wards
Wishing freedom
So far.

• J. Pigno