A shouting man
Can’t hear
What his dreams
Are trying to
Whisper

With those fears
He often argues
At loud volumes
In each
Thought,

Always thankful
There is noise
Finding quiet
Much too
Dangerous

Where belief
Disrupts intention
Since deliberate
Peace
Should fail

By engaging
Certain whims
Like raw feelings
Based
On nothing

But disaster
Known as static
Banging drums
While God
Still talks –

Seeking help
For gnawing pain
Caused from sound
Which nearly
Itches

Between boundaries
Deemed essential
Failing lies
That plug
Both ears,

Still believing
Yells can change
What these senses
Find
Most heinous

Never learning
Daily silence
Holds our heaven
Hushed
So close.

– J. Pigno

Let’s give it
What we have
Even though that’s
Not real much
When faced with
Imminent danger
Which our eyes
Still strain to see

While deciding
What comes next
Learning quickly
Loss is fated
Since revealing
Better natures
Once believed
Just certain luck

Through the lens
Called human grief
Despite grasping
Choices matter
Taking action
Besides praying
God should save
Who matters most

For in fact
Faith never lasts
Staking safety
Upon riches
Finding poor men
Line those hallways
Grinning warmly
As they cough

Knowing death
Means true relief
Seeking solace
Outside bodies
Made of flesh
Decaying daily
Falling victim
Breathing germs

Where resistance
Empties hope
Taking torment
Missing respite
Chasing answers
Within workdays
Thinking wallets
Offer cures

So instead
Remain unknown
Keeping humble
Doing favors
Turning chances
Into changes
Loving always
Ceasing hate

Shedding fear
Before each end
Kissing hands
Whose fingers tremble
Shining light
Beyond thick darkness
Gently proving
Life endures.

– J. Pigno

Long have I
Been removed
As God’s
Unholy witness
Who received
His strange
Dictation
Through verse
Not claimed
My own –

Wandering
Daily mists
Within these dreams
Forsaken
When gardens
Gray
And sulking
Pervade
What sleep
Stays fogged,

While soon
Such visions tell
Of gates
Where ivy
Tether
An entrance
To that channel
Among
Old headstones
Bare

Like rare
Yet sacred dreams
Which share
Bare answers
Scattered
Between each
Vivid passage
With words
Whose worth
Feels wrong.

New graveyards
Follow suit
During evenings
Fate becomes me
Minding tongues
No mouth can
Utter
Seeking ways
Those phrases
Speak

Upon pages
Missing seams
Failing gifts
Once deemed
Effective
Yielding proof
Most prophets
Stutter
Using language
True
But flawed

Showing signs
All lines
Deceive
Without faith
Behind their meaning
Haunting daylight
Still so lucky
It should come
Despite
This test,

Since our sun
Demands we pray
Even if
Tomorrow
Kills us
Still agreeing
Death forever
Is believing
At high
Cost –

Never learning
Faith redeems
Doubting hearts
Relieved
By poets
Fearing judgment
They must suffer
For forgiveness
Art may
Grant,

Though I gather
Every term
Lifts me higher
Now
Towards heaven
Granting solace
Outside coffins
Lining nightmares
Pens
Will write.

– J. Pigno

This time
The tomb
Stays closed,

Since God
Himself
Has perished

Upon
What cross
We’ve chosen

Where death
Is a permanent
State –

From sin
Once seen
As need

Within
These bodies
Willing

To find
Such answers
Desperate

While fear
Has trumped
Our soul,

Inside
Poor flesh
So weak

Where pleasure
Chased
Like demons

Fills
Those holes
Regardless

With gifts
Whose grins
Can kill.

My heart
Just doesn’t
Bleed

Anymore
All life
Should suffer

Knowing illness
Proves
How nature

Doesn’t care
If Easter
Waits,

Wishing somehow
Christ
Could save

Before breath
Escapes
Each body

Begging heaven
Come
That Sunday

Being cancelled
Now
For good.

– J. Pigno

Artists
Always had it
Right

By keeping
A constant
Distance

From the world
Whose vision
Had differed
In ways which
Rattled
Their soul –

While they sought
What muse
Made sense
Despite
Such rumbling
Stomachs,

Starving
Only in
Pockets

For riches
Deeper
Than change.

Since coins
Did seem
Absurd
When poets’
Words
Could nourish

Like food
That offered
Solace
And appeared
As God
Through tongues,

Not wallets
Filled
With cash

But spirits
Spilled
On canvas

Where chords
Still echoed
Loudly
Across this
Place
Too dull –

Telling us
Hate must
Pass
Cause flesh
Will fade
Forever

Instead
Believing our
Senses

Expressing
Life gone
Wrong.

– J. Pigno