I think about you
Every morning
When amethyst skies
Feel most sullen

As sunlight creeps
Behind darkness
Faint with dawn
Newly birthed,

Hearing that laugh
In my bedroom
Where friendships past
Aren’t memories

But echoes of dreams
Sharing stories
Reliving those days
Gone for good.

My phone never rings
Getting texts
Or occasional calls
Like it used to.

Parenting now
Must take precedence
Over those left back
Staying home.

This early start
Can embellish
How different our worlds
Were becoming

During hours once shared
Never ready
While being big kids

Is fatherhood worth
Giving up
Everything new
Which reminds us

How life
Still isn’t so serious
By proving now
Age always sucks?

Enjoying our youths
While they last
Means someone must stay
The bad influence.

Maturity just
Doesn’t sound pleasant-
Nothing seems fair
Getting old.

  • J. Pigno

All I can write
Are eulogies,

These prayers
Of implied expiration,

Between each line
Growing mortal
In the sense
Such poems take tolls –

How feelings alone
Appear cruel
When scrawled across notes
Barely noticed,

Inside my phone
Behind passwords
Hoping my wife
Could soon guess.

Some eyes bring
Fierce expectations
Upon what words
Remain hidden,

Until that day
Quickly follows
When few but our ills
Would expect

If feared
With its hastened approach
Though expressed
By honest affliction –

Indebted through art
Sorely lacking
Since missing beliefs
Facing death

Which trails
Behind every phrase,

Mocking presence
Increasingly precious,

Memories held close
Gaining meanings
Hindsight might yield
Even more.

Then fanfares blare
Among ruins
Scribbled at night
Where completed,

Watching her sleep
As this heartbeat
Starts to give way
Under stress –

Jotting down dreams
She recalls,

But for me seemed real
While together,

Falling now hard
Into darkness
Sharper than spite
Loss relates

After being so sick
Far too long
And accepting how fate
Tumbles gently
Off castle walls
Below heaven
Like towers we built
Seeking God.

  • J. Pigno

I am young again
Often while dreaming
As mom stays close
Where the waves break,

Standing on docks
Near our shoreline,

Watching steamships
Sink off that coast.

Somehow those boats
Aren’t vessels,

But harbingers
Speaking of sadness,

Now what’s to come
After sleeping
When adulthood
Wakes me once more –

And yet
We’re back every night
Still atop old piers
Over darkness,

Watching bows submerge

Soon tearing apart
While they drown.

Just imagine
A life after death
Left blackest
Beneath every ocean,

Seeing such depths
All around you,
Though eternally
Needing escape.

Waking up
Feels fairly absurd,

Damned with faith
Facing morning,

Like wreckage
Assuming salvation –

At least in hell
There is light.

  • J. Pigno

Tell me God
Have I earned this dread
From which there is
No escaping,

But dreams that cause
Living shadows
Even though such threats

On bedroom walls
Across nights
These chest pains squeeze
Like constrictions
Of blood flow
Cut from delivery
Back towards a heart
Still distressed-

Watching fears grow real
Along ceilings,

Letting terrors
Wake without ending,

Noticing webs
In each corner
As those spiders endure
Under skin.

My anxieties
Aren’t just bugs
But remaining thoughts
Always crawling
Where eyes can’t see
Every movement
Insects make
Weaving nests.

Their existence
Prevents any rest,

Denying that peace
Never certain,

Knowing agony
Presumes all happiness
Is nonsense
Hardly worth rest –

A poor pursuit
Seeking hope
Through our daily deaths
Wasting hours
Which lets each nerve
Soon unravel
Closing both eyes
To what kills.

Sometimes pain
Conquers hope
Despite how sun
Follows morning,

Murdering days
Before ending
After hurting so long
Needing change,

If believing lies
Slumber sells

Through memories
Challenging faithfulness,

Lethally felt
Since experienced
During memories
Rearing once more.

  • J. Pigno

This rain has proved
Heaven’s whimper
Like the tears of God
I’ve been needing
Since discovering
Hell is conviction
By virtue
Of smiling suns

And their harshest rays
We can take
During seasons
Better off thirsty
Where droughts prove long
Without begging
Such empty skies
For a flood –

Like mysteries
Missing each piece
When crying clouds
Never answer
What puzzle endures
During daylight
Obscured much less
Than we’d wish

As heavier air
Carries words
Tasked through dreams
Seeking questions
Before each thought
Loses meaning
Just drinking from wells
Going dry –

Burdened too much
Under loads
And still asking rocks
Despite knowing
That life drinks dirt
Growing desperate
Feeling parched
If inquiring stones

How water appears
Ever rare
Even though hell
Remains vacant
Unleashing its wrath
Via beauty
Expecting dawn
Shimmers bright

But anticipates
Shifting beliefs
Subverting faith
Every morning
These changes come
Bringing showers
Cascading relief
Turning grey.

I love those sounds
Puddles make
Outside my room
Gently calling
Enough so hope
Isn’t stagnant
Or comfortably warm
Seeming stale.

  • J. Pigno

Wind carries dust
Over bookshelves
Shrouded in dimness

Beneath curtains
Fluttering softly
Near these windows
Sharing that breath,

Where filtering sun
Barely seen
From my ottoman
Hearing such noises

When nature sighs
Getting older
As the hours seem slow
All alone –

Each daylight
Robbed of its strength
During winter’s pass
At seclusion

So peacefully felt
Sitting sadly
Wasting lifetimes
Staring towards screens

And depleting time
Seeking proof
Of existence earned
Between movies

Letting illness
Become an obsession
Still lost among thrills
Playing games.

Those toys just can’t
Or pine for worlds
Beyond limits –

How I struggle
Remaining important
Despite writing again
Without need

Since controllers
Replace every thought
Just hanging on hands
While they fidget

From now knowing
Tomorrow’s repeating
This grey afternoon.

  • J. Pigno

There are layers
Between each breath
Of this cold
That carries your whispers,

Like winds
Whose secretive phrases
Are weapons
Which scathe like grit

And seasons
Telling their past
Knowing weather
Reflects such derision

While passively
Killing our moment
As climates
Aggressively change –

Those hidden gusts
We can sense
When trees grow blank
Over winter

Where empty lanes
Become canvas
For connected paths
Soon obscured

By snow drifts
Speaking soft phrases
Poetically caught
Losing meaning

But deliberately
Covering footsteps
Long written through trails
We had paced,

Walking once
Beneath gentle flakes
Forming beautiful shapes
Lacking semblance

Around shuttered doors
Mocking happiness
Near powdery lies
Built from ice.

Smiles just fade
Very fast
After temperatures dip
Without warning.

I keep candles
Burning in windows
Remembering how warmth
Used to feel

Since November
Doesn’t seem fair
Bringing frost
Besides yearly reminders

Some memories wreak
Stealing voices
Describing what hope
Remains left.

  • J. Pigno

I’ve left behind
Meaningless words
Thinking somehow
That would
Fulfill me,

A text of scripts
Holding dialogues
Only heard
By few
Who might read –

As landscapes change
Out this window
Where trees
Turn colors
Like fire,

Watching fall
Grow grim
While enjoying
Those branches
Burnt from decay

In ironic twists
Without choice
Much how age
Squanders beauty

Such youngsters speak
Thinking poems
Could keep them
At best.

That dream
Has long been deceased
And old men
Hearing nothing

But empty breath
Getting colder
Since seasons
Can reflect

These passing days
Bearing chills
Each autumn
Are just phrases

When talking winds
Bring their winter
Losing hope
Through voice
All the same.

  • J. Pigno

The only way
Words get lost
Is when they are
Disingenuous –

Not by ridicule,
Or nervousness,

But allowing our truths
To implode.

Come from reluctance.

Proves poems invalid.

I almost stopped
Writing for others –

In reality,
They couldn’t
Care less.

And that’s what
Makes me persist –

Fighting weakness
With faithful admission

Of this dangerous rage
Turning inward

Before ridicule
Fires these sparks

That God Himself
Turns a phrase
Before our hearts
Ever notice

His absence
Was inspired disclosure
Through an honest voice
Speaking up.

  • J. Pigno

Some say
God doesn’t punish,

That vengeance
Is just human perception
Since reality
Offers no meaning
But man’s cruelty
Left in fate’s wake.

At home I was taught
Something different,

How experience
Builds our compassion
Through these hardships
Mutually suffered
At the hands of hate
Doing harm –

A vicarious hurt
Often shared
When watching crime
Ravage cities
While spoken prayers
Go unanswered
But heroic acts
Cure disease,

This plague called sin
Twisting hope
Into countless needs
Never realized
As children raised
Without parents
Learn jobs yield love
At sale price.

Maybe all faith
Remains dead,

Watching young crowds
Take their photos
On smartphones
Posing distracted,

Seeing emptiness
Grinning for likes –

But belief dies hard
Left intact
Among those souls
Bearing witness,

Worried Christ Himself
Answers vaguely
So art must speak
Now instead.

Help me find
That smiling Jesus,

True divinity
Painted with poems

Outside textbooks
Pushing religion
Not everyone thinks
Appears good –

Mortal prejudice
Often disguised
By an imagery
Mocking existence,

Knowing damn well
Heaven watches
Rather than help
Where it can.

  • J. Pigno