My fear
Is an act of
Constriction
Becoming
What hope
I have left

To end
Such hurt
Prematurely
By the cutting
Of blood
From my soul,

Redeeming veins
That are
Crunched
And narrowed
When losing
Conviction

Behind
These muscles
Swollen
Which sustain
What faith
Doesn’t flow

By a sudden
But dangerous
Change
Where arteries
Crushed
Cannot question

Or betray
One’s heart
As the vessel
For believing
Love
Still exists.

– J. Pigno

Just like that
They’re gone
These words
Which were my
Pillars

Bearing down
On metals
Bent
At weakened
Knees

Like steel
That’s not so
Tough
With feelings
Inconsistent

From passions
Burning greatly
Where emotion
Makes
Its mark

As floors
May seek collapse
When anger
Grows
Like fire

Within
Each tallest building
Of dangers
Meant
To break

Lasting
For our sins
Until
Those needs
Are vanquished

By destruction
Once deliberate
So the fall
Can claim
My voice,

Empty
Though confused
As smoke
Pours out
From windows

Obscured
Like what
Comes after
These flames
Are long put out.

Foundations
Left unearthed
Still prove
By fractured
Remnants

How footings
Just can’t handle
That I’ve nothing
Left
To say.

– J. Pigno

I hear
From your empty room
Those sounds
Of the saddest
Sleep –

A stirring
Of rigid linens
In darkness
Bold
And hushed,

Where screaming
Breaks with noise
This silence
Smashed
Like crystal

What rest
Is hardly peaceful
Where fear
And nightmares
Dwell.

As I listen
Down that hall
From my bed
A tomb
Of mourning

To calls
Behind each
Doorway
Of whispers
Told at night

So candles
Lit with prayers
Bear flames
Of dancing
Shadows

On walls
Aglow with phantoms
Like ghosts
And formless
Shapes –

Among
Our brightest
Days
Held inside
That fire

Projected
Into darkness
Through light
Which piereces
Black

Recalling
Times well spent
Amidst
These quiet
Echoes

And reasons
Worth believing
My tears
Bring certain
Haunts.

– J. Pigno

What about
Those boys
Whose hurt is
Merely guidance
In lieu of
Absent mothers
Where fathers
Pick up slack

Believing
Nothing hurts
As long as
Feelings swallowed
Are answers
To their pressures
When denying
Sadness builds

Agreeing
Bouncing balls
Can rid them
Of this silence
To suffer pain
So lonely
On cold and angry
Streets

Beating
Desperate means
With fists
Into submission
Assuming kids
More fragile
Are targets
Worth their grief

Near courts
Of asphalt dreams
With hoops held high
Elusive
Like survival
Leaving winning
The only answer
Making sense

Excluded
From these friends
By fear
Of being needy
Afraid to
Hug or kiss them
Or say that
Love is real

As men
Teach other males
Frailty
Is some sickness
And trait
Left just for women
Which embodies
What they fear

Resenting
Female ways
Like laws of heart
Made certain
Through action
Showing kindness
Is far from
Being weak.

– J. Pigno

What lives
You learned to fight
Have never gone
Unnoticed

In ways
My heart takes ransom
These dreams
You’ve won for me,

Not from
Easy scars
But means
I’d never envy

When swords
Of inner demons
Bear hilts
Most cannot lift

Which always
Seem to share
Such weight
We hold regardless

Of the difference
Left unspoken
During battles
Waged on time –

Our separate
Kingdoms come
Like answers
Better silenced

For sins
Called understanding
Where resentment
Takes its toll.

Your sacrifice
Never scared
Even if
Staying angry

And keeping me
Fairly nourished
At expense
Of taking hits,

Too sad
To see your gifts
Fall among
Such freedoms wasted

Perceived
Not by your child
But a man
Who’s barely strong –

Nowhere near as you
Crushing pasts
Under conquered
Mountains

Claiming
Raging soldiers
Where death
Is certain choice

And accepting
Daily pain
For the sake
I may not have it

Admitting
Daily bloodshed
Is the way
You’d stay alive,

As fathers
Make their sons
Out of courage
Breaking limits

Combatting
Countless armies
Each day
They long to give.

– J. Pigno

This blood
I spit
Is real,

Each organ
Fails so
Slowly –

I’m neutered
Weak
And thinning

But yet
You keep me
Still,

With moans
And angry
Screams

When being
Held
For comfort

From the ways
You know
I battle

Without
That voice
To speak.

What love
I show
Is faith,

To the point
I’m meant
To suffer

Close
As God
Can answer

For a soul
As small
As this.

These shots
Don’t hurt
Too bad,

I prefer
Long sleep
Regardless –

Put me down
Like a dying
Cat,

In truth
It is more
Humane.

– J. Pigno

What chance
We’re given breath
Is the sum
Of early mornings
Our forebears spent
With passion
Where legacies
Joined in flesh –

That number
Fixed by fate
Between these sheets
Disheveled
On beds containing
Answers
Far greater
Than measured days

Between
Each empty race
And need
For failed successes
We chase like mice
Through mazes
Confused
There is no end,

Tempered
By our nights
When sunlight
Quickly settles
Through tallest trees
Now witnessed
Outside these windows
Shut

As mundane
Thrills at best
But profound
And easy whispers
Of the voice of God
So diligent
Who suggests
That gentle breeze

Is a meddling
With our hearts
As His hands
Excite these feelings
Among what fingers
Restless
Explore our urge
To care.

Idle
As we lay
Immersed in frantic
Nothing
But alive
As rest intended
Where dreams
Create new birth

By turn
Of simple math
Not answered
With our questions
But deducted
From each image
All life
Is blessed to share.

– J. Pigno

My dark
Is nearly lost
With brightness
At its peak

Gleaned
From second guessing
New light caught on
Your face

As hope’s
Demanding twist
For fate to learn
From reason

What source
Of glowing wishes
Still keeps me
Burning strong

As dull
And steady warmth
Flameless
Though resistant

Returns
When night is bearing
Far down
Like fallen weight,

Considerate
Of these stars
Man-made
But too revealing

Each bulb
A tiny fixture
Containing
Giant dares

Calling out
All fears
Amidst such
Shattered answers

Where bulbs
Are broken quickly
Despite this
Flipping switch –

That grin
You always gave

My daydream
Unrelenting,

A sun
Within our distance

So small
Yet fairly close.

– J. Pigno

I was never
One for pride
As it makes me
Feel unsettled

For ambition
Is always
Hubris

Behind what work
We choose.

– J. Pigno

My gear
Is standing
Still

Though faith
May never
Fix it

Or turn
That hanging
Second

From a feeling
Locked
In time,

And mend
This broken
Piece

As hours
Caught
On waiting

For answers
Lost
To minutes

Where clocks
Can somehow
Change –

That face
If etched
With pain

Or hours
Raised
Like phantoms

At the edge
Of pointed
Needles

Near arrows
Held
By choice,

What fate
Is spun
Each day

Through redeeming
Breaths not
Taken

When counting
Fear
As passing

Such deathly
Pause
We take.

– J. Pigno