Perhaps it is
Nearly time
For me to
Put away
This dream

And forget
I ever suffered
At the hands
Of having
A choice

To change
What mind
Has stirred
In place
Of appearing decent

When assuming lines
Left scattered
Are this rare
Yet bold
Disease

Like an inconsistent
Means
Which compels
My broken
Wishes

For expressions
Once denoted
By a heart
With honest
Voice

Now caught
On second chance
Where this loss
Is that much
Greater

And demand
Its steeper incline
From these hills
I cannot
Scale

Speaking
While I can
Just to mount
One piercing
Summit

Among clouds
At soaring limits
Near the base
Of heavens
Close

As these phrases
Fall beneath
Toward that end
I cannot
Suffer

But reveal
Their gaping chasm
As an ache
Like open
Wounds

Remaining
Festered sores
Amid craters
Dark
And empty

Upon learning
Every surface
Is the hell
That always
Was

Seeing
Beyond fate
In this valley
Of our
Purpose

Looking down
Uncertain
My leap
Of faith
Will land.

– J. Pigno

I’m off in my
Lazy meadow
Where negligence
Passes
For green

And tired
Is weary discretion
To determine
Waste
As the view

Where sullenness
Finds its grace
From idleness
Bearing
All meaning

Through breezes
Blowing transparent
Carrying fate
On their
Winds

With vague
But noticed disgrace
Amid fields
So oddly
Accustomed

To flowers
Marked
By their colors
Of petals lost
Among stems –

These plants
Of gorgeous disdain
Displayed with shame
For their
Beauty

Still shining bright
In the daylight
When clouds
Will come
As this test

Upon heavens
Barely awake
Now fallen
Fast
As predicted

By tempests
Raining
Their thunder
Like angry storms
Needing rest

Or pouring out truths
From the past
Across valleys
Made
For distraction

As sudden gales
Unpredicted
Go telling
Tales
That I wrecked

Within stupid dreams
Unfulfilled
Like an innocent
Sun
Growing guilty

Rising quick
For that moment
But setting
Slow
When it counts.

– J. Pigno

Let this
River run dry
If it means
Revealing
Our canvas

From memory
Washed in forever
Whose voice
Is the trickle
Which fades

As madness
Grows where it may
Like a waterfall
Pouring
And reckless

What energies
Brimming with choices
Are oceans
Of talent
We waste

To deter
These moments
That change
All reasons
Life wouldn’t matter

If art were our
Fleeting distinction
Of each person
Broke
Through their chance

As phrases
Fake and ashamed
Or soliloquies
Uttered
For practice

Among crowds
Whose lie
Is attentions
Unreliably fake
At their best

Pretend waves
Will move unnoticed
Like banks
On a shore
Still willing

When efforts
Ripe as their minute
Proves breathing
Fails
Since we laugh

Like a stream
Of time
Never steady
Over rocks
Resembling faces

Beneath channels
Caught between branches
Seeking love
And dirt
As they pass.

– J. Pigno

Dare not
Be afraid
But proceed
With utmost
Caution

As money
Won’t solve
Your problems
But servitude
Actually might

When kneeling
Before our God
Whose existence
Can never
Be proven

Like faith
That worthy gamble
For spending
A life
In fear

Where freedom
Is always just
If the privileged
Few
Should have it

When laziness
Buys you nothing
But the need
To work
Some more

And pleasure
Is always laced
With a pain
That just keeps
Going

Seizing
Each passing moment
From our quick
Yet painful
Death

To show
How love is
Blind
Between these
Open fingers

Peeking
Beyond appearance
Cause beauty
Is still
Skin deep

Watching
How every move
Without rules
But planned
Successes

Is forgetting
Those second chances
Like tomorrow
Will surely
Come.

– J. Pigno

This fate
Of a wounding watch
Is fear of each
Missing moment
From the hand
Which never delivers
On its promise
Of keeping pace

Or an accurate
Change of face
As the hand
Still turns unknowing
While a gear inside
Stays broken
When its wearer
Loses track

As they find
No minute waits
For their losses
Unexpected
And chances
Passing quickly
Where experience
Moves so fast

To savor
Fleeting breaths
That enable
Every feeling
For interims
Gone forever
In the blink
Of tired eyes

Hoping
Some may last
Among brief
And tragic seconds
Like each future
Always baiting
Our true ending
As it comes

From hours
Nearly new
Amid memories
Barely witnessed
Within spans
Of ticking torment
Upon learning
Now is lost

Setting
Empty dates
Without need
For telling stories
As the clock
Is never aging
But our bodies
Somehow do

Believing
Epochs fade
As these flawed
And certain instants
Of endless days
Unmeasured
Only God
Can understand.

– J. Pigno

Relieve
This awful person
From the throne
On which
He reigns

For a chance
To find forgiveness
That redeems
What hurt
He’s caused

As the prince
Of feeling numb
By threat
Of failed
Existence

Upon learning
Kingdoms suffer
When fear
Is his sole
Belief

And rage
That golden rule
Among laws
Which startle
Greatly

Those souls
Who need assistance
To defy
Such vile
Faiths

Like death
His only truth
Where pain
Is still
Insistent

Each symptom
Bears one answer
For questions
He can’t
Face

But assume
His aging role
Is the means
Of finding
Purpose

To gain control
Of waiting
Each day
With final
Breaths

At a castle
Standing still
Between hell
And heaven’s
Illness

Called secrets
So repugnant
Our lives
May never
Learn

How monarchs
Choose their fate
By twist
Of using
Hatred

As leverage
In all conquest
Against
What God
They rage –

Barely
Seeing why
Or agreeing
Time
Is sacred

Before falling
Deep toward slumber
Eternal
As their
Rest,

Golden
Though condemned
Like his
With poorest
Spirit

And heart
So purely hardened
As coins
Which never
Bend

Demanding
Easy reasons
For the gamble
He must
Wager

Facing
Daily judgement
Since proven
To be
Wrong.

– J. Pigno

I fear this
Sudden calmness
Is proof
My faith has
Passed

Leaving me
Nearly empty
Of dreams
No God
Can save

Except for
False relief
Like a dull
And numb
Decision

To exist
As merely idle
In that fierce
But quiet
Place

Where the recess
Of my fate
Holds dark
And missing
Answers

Lying
Through my choices
Convinced
These words
Are true

From a soul
Whose mind
Is blank
Now echoing
Certain wishes

Of what real
And wasted talent
Finds death
Without such
Chance

Removed
Beyond that bliss
Of a note
Old angels
Carry

Singing
Their silent anthem
For this life
I’d barely
Known

Wondering
If my end
Is a fair
Yet easy
Question

Believing
Almost nothing
Is worth
That pain
Expressed.

– J. Pigno