No I’m not
Missing a beat –

It’s this bad case
Of cardiophobia
Tugging my breath
Like loose drawstrings
Ready to entangle
These lungs,

While imagining
Daylight deceased
And nighttime
Fate’s only gamble

For another sleep
Choking on demons
Becoming what fear
I’ve abused

While pursuing hope
In some dream
Or discovering books
Between pauses
My heartbeat throws
Skipping moments
When science prevails
Over God.

Before faith
There was merely disease,

Once binding up nerves
Feeling worried

That soon each line
Will expire
Like formless shapes
Left behind –

Those chances
Appearing too vague
Where rhythms
Disrupt every silence,

Still caught
While knots well-established

See me running away
Breaking ties.

By pulling both ends
I’m undone,
Obeying the threads
Now unraveled-

Being ill
Means pulses write poems
Knowing art
Could claim any gasp.

• J. Pigno

I only
Ever wanted attention
Because all that exists
Is indifference,

Or the hate
Of becoming familiar
With a person
Whose love feels unfair.

That’s how our hope
Slowly fades,

Through days spent
Gazing at ceilings,

Swearing something
Beyond this fixation
Could alter man’s fate
Being fixed.

God lies
If death doesn’t hurt,

As suffering
Reigns one advantage
Over loneliness
Supposedly worth it,

Facing lifetimes
Crying in vain –

Transient bliss
Holding hands,

Marriages torn
Getting restless,

Souls growing apart
Sensing purpose
Means leaving behind
Every dream.

Above us
Still sits empty space,

Just staring back down
While we suffer.

Pity how loss
Remains frightening –

For me
Such fear seems absurd.

• J. Pigno

I enjoy nights
Drowning in heartbeats
Letting sweaty sheets
Cradle illness
From a race I’d run
Feeling breathless
While chasing fears
All alone

On an empty bed
Where I linger,

And wither away
Chewing nightmares,

Growing stiff
Like some lifeless body
We become
When our meaning subsides –

An expensive dream
Never nourished
During daylight hopes
Seeming meager,

Missing meals
But savoring punishments
Lacking words
This soul always needs.

Every morning
I’m hungry again –

Not enthused,
Yet entirely famished

For something real
Most poetic

Or at least
An expression with taste.

• J. Pigno

I had never seen
Lighthouse Hill
Through the lens
Of those withering branches
On a Sunday night
While driving
When our Christmas trees
Still glowed

In that winter cold
We’d shared
Before finding warmth
Now kindled
Beneath blankets
Made from flannels
Where speechless dreams
Held hands –

This living ash
With embers
Whose smoke was deemed
Too dangerous
As feelings plumed
Like chimneys
Giving meaning
To such air,

Though forsaken
Despite death
Hiding lamps
Between each forest
Sticking out
Above old buildings
Proving beacons
Fade so fast

If obscured
Among thick plants
Growing tall
Beyond all measures
Human eyes
Can barely witness
Staring down
An empty road.

Sometimes places
Won’t appear
Until love can shift
Perspective
After fighting fears
More lonely
Leaving corners
Unexplored –

Never lost
But often found
Chasing whims
Thought unimportant
Soon defining God
Around us
Proving wishes
May come true,

Since tomorrow
Edges close
Placing gifts
Alongside ailments
Yet worth learning
Miracles happen
Only once
Before they fail.

• J. Pigno

Distract me
Though I might wither
During moments spent
Seeming happy
And seeking peace
Where hurt dwindles
Over decades
Forced to be strong,

But destroyed
When feelings ensue
What failure learns
Needing virtue
In places damned
By our efforts
Trading honest words
For a grin –

That certain phrase
Still unsaid
Between lasting stares
Over silence
Which tells of hearts
Skipping gently
Never knowing
How laughter can lie

Or deny such pain
At real costs
Since skimming books
Doesn’t mention
Those details lost
Missing pages
Trading dialogues
Looks never share.

Most paragraphs
End with regret
From holding back
Every sentence
These empty days
Could allow us
Wishing dreams
Were stories we lived.

Some people
Narrate their grief
Preferring God
Only listens
While removing fate
Through expressions
True faith may build
Taking time

If love should dare
Getting loud
Proving passions pay
Better riches
Than minutes drowned
Beneath questions
Chasing answers
Reason escapes –

How solitude
Imitates death
Forcing presence
Lacking discussion
Yet deluding minds
Staying focused
Meaning ignorance
Buries itself.

• J. Pigno

These lungs
Are a falling star
On which my breath
Keeps wishing
Some pleasant dream
May find me
As this final light
Will fade

Before what hope
Should pass
As grief sticks hard
Like mucus
Within this chest
Congested
From inhaling fear
So long –

That hurt
Most lives won’t face
Or convey through verse
Too anxious
For sensible jobs
And safeties
I never could stand
Very much.

The room is dark
While waiting
Each day now
Suffering dimness
Where silence sits
Near windows
Left shuttered
Since sadness persists,

Beyond new suns
Come morning
While its promises
Age every evening
Reminding us
Time grows inspired
Only if pain
Edges close.

Nothing can save
Filling airways
Begging their God
Offer voices
One last chance
At expressions
Eagerly told
Before death –

Left behind
But somehow awake
Despite such sleep
Consuming
More fleeting thoughts
Than expected
Though worrying now
Over words,

Those gasping lines
They forget
Were ever your own
After passing
But ignoring truth
When it’s written
Still immortal
Yet misunderstood.

• J. Pigno

Our minds
Always choose cliches
As poets themselves
Will become one
While trying so hard
To avoid it
Despite knowing how life
Seems to work –

This terrible need
Sharing words,

On which faith gags
Spouting humor,

Without seeking laughs
From a reader
Whose only job
Was belief

Or at least not grin
When we choke
Downing rancid truths
Nearly swallowed
By corrupted faith
Snuffing candles
Despite chasing lines
Burning bright.

This lighted path
Leading pages
Traces margins dark
Lacking wisdoms
Such hallowed terms
Turned cathedrals
Offer pious flames
In that space,

Trading legacies
Honestly said
Behind every term
Casting shadows

Across what hell
Remains empty

Finding heaven
Through phrases between.

Keep writing those fears
Facing doubts
For sainted scribes
Remain anxious,

Though immortal
Since forcing uniqueness
Beneath weighted sins
Grown devout –

Traumatic lies
Overused
Since tired jobs
Make us heavy,

Feeling sad
But never spontaneous

Yet oddly mad
There is hope.

Perhaps suffering
Eases all staleness
If expression
Proves soullessly basic
Leaving deeper dreams
Unexamined
Beyond standards
Death often wills.

• J. Pigno

Many dreams
Are an act of God
Which provide us proof
For existence
Outside this realm
Where real torture
Is knowing such limits
Persist

Within these chains
Self-aware
Leaving anxious thoughts
Always tethered
Besides what hope
Sleeping offers
Like nightmares had
While awake,

Needing desperate truths
Visions give
Sharing angry signs
Through our terrors
Warning every soul
Remain open
To those humble clues
Horror tells

By assuring fear
Reveals strength
Shedding honest light
Upon failures
Searching memories lost
Rediscovered
After missing their point
All along –

Showing splitting paths
Realign
Soon becoming whole
Once we realize
Humans merely sin
Being selfish
Seeking joy long gone
Facing death

As toy shelves bend
Over time
Still inside old minds
Growing jaded
Watching teddy bears
Tattered and dusty
Reveal hidden tears
During play

Only children’s hearts
Can perceive
Grieving innocent days
Going missing
Feeling decades pass
Between moments
A few short breaths
Often steal

Since the present
Eludes making sense
But forever works
How imagined
Seeing heaven drift
Behind eyelids
So tired
From finding life hard.

• J. Pigno

I am a man
Of faith
Which means that
There is no coincidence
Except what
Circumstance beckons
These doubtful lines
Over fear.

How words still fail
Every dream
My more innocent mind
Believed valid
Despite such years
Spent pursuing
All the empty leads
Without proof

Where miracles fade
When we touch
Their tangible gifts
Going missing,
So rarely sought
After aging
Since getting old means
Falling ill

By feeling sick
In our heads
After being told work
Can achieve them
Proving efforts earn
Almost nothing
But jaded eyes
Losing sight –

Obscuring God
Through success
While focusing now
On achievement
Rather than life’s
Subtle angels
Who comfort souls
Growing weak

And inspire art
Beyond grief
Yielding beauty
Outside this perception
Nearly killed
From daily obsessions
Like aggression forced
To survive.

It is gesture
Destined by verse
Showing heaven exists
Between margins
As writers churn out
Sullen wisdoms
Merely sharing truths
Most neglect,

Choosing voices
Few barely hear
Though discerning tales
Fate imagines
Are better spent
Speaking surprises
Only hidden
If being closed off.

• J. Pigno