Tag: poem

By on

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

By on

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

By on

So what of this
Lonely end
I keep hearing
Will happen
Real soon?

Perhaps
Its our awesome
Blessing
Where peace
Is an airless breath.

Like a letdown
Easily faced
Despite
Such life
Left willing

Inside us
Fighting for answers
Tired
We’ve waited
Too long

With lingering fears
Unfair
Which prey
On sympathies
Rattled

By minds
Still wishing
Daily
Their time may
Eventually pass,

As they face
Those visions scared
Knowing somehow
Dreams
Don’t happen

While ignoring
Germs inside them
In that moment
Faith
Should come

Long enough
When prayers unheard
Become chills
And fevers
Holy

Proving hope
Beyond God’s heaven
Aren’t cures
But further
Ills

Where existence
Loses steam
More than lungs
Who’ve found
Sick pleasure

Sucking smoke
Through empty vessels
Till machines
Make torture
Last

Watching worlds
Fall at His feet
Seeing kingdoms
Cough up
Chances

Choosing sin
Upon destruction
Learning death
Was love
Enough.

– J. Pigno

By on

This drum
Which will not cease
Is the death
I long to suffer
From heartbeats
Out of rhythm
That fear
Has proven strong

With its pacing
Missing cues
As discordant waves
Develop
Throwing fits
Inside my body
So innate
Disruption builds

Though unnoticed
During days
Voices drown
Pain’s poor percussion
Screaming poems
Over dangers
While I’ve little
Left to say

Despite anguish
Breaking through
Speaking volumes
By obsession
Yielding music
Much less scary
When in fact
Fate often lurks

Behind ballads
Softly played
Amid memories
Hushed and muddled
Waiting daily
For disaster
Dancing blindly
Losing breath

Telling God
His song resounds
Even if these lyrics
Struggle
To convey
My deepest hardship
Read aloud
But still unheard.

– J. Pigno

By on

This is
Actually real –

Our thirst
For fear
Has vanished

To embrace
What strain
Inevitable
Should begin
God’s gorgeous
End

On behalf
Of life’s good name
Whose own nature
Aches
With trauma
Which will soothe
Each soul
Worth mending
After time
Itself
May cease

Knowing crowds
Had lost their
Way
Long before
True judgment
Lingered
Looming far
Beyond perception
Clouded daily
By these
Needs

While defeat
Collects
Such hate
When success
Is far more
Dangerous

Like disaster
We have
Witnessed
Trading sins
Now claiming
Breath

Since “deserved”
Remains that
Word
Best expressed
As coming
judgment

Where diseases
So well
Hidden
Show death’s work
By fevers’
Hands

Still invisible
Though they
Rage
Inside bodies
Frail
Yet gasping

Proving fate
Neglects
All efforts

If existence
Must conclude.

– J. Pigno

By on

Our Earth
Has lost its
Tolerance
For the threat
Of material wealth

Which sees
No life as sacred
On grounds
Success
Is earned

Now offered
By fate’s hand
Through God
Whose love
Gives shelter

By means
Once thought
Inherent
To this flesh
Where family dwells

Deep inside us
Though we slave
Over tasks
Not even
Crucial

But inflicted
Through decisions
While pursuing
Needs
Like crumbs

Soon forgetting
Biggest feasts
Lack cuisine
Consumed
From begging

If compiled
Over decades
Tilling soil
Left
At home

Being kind
When others waste
Finding sun
Behind
Old wisdoms

Kissing clouds
Despite disaster
Saving beasts
With souls
So pure

Knowing torture
Still persists
Watching humans
Chase
Their captors

Burning moments
Claiming feelings
Lack what value
Cash
Should have

Thinking flames
Were never hell
Outside times
I always
Questioned

Had resembled
Heaven’s judgment
Come tomorrow’s
Faith
Long gone.

– J. Pigno

By on

It’s true
I’d rather die
Than live in
A world
Like this

Which resembles
Almost nothing
Of what God
Had always
Planned

For His people
Feeling lost
Without choice
Or hope
For dreaming

New expressions
Found abandoned
By our nature
Frail
From fear

Growing weak
Through every breath
Stolen daily
As faith
Plummets

On one dime
No man expected
But those few
Who prayed
At home

Watching TVs
Crush their chance
To declare
Such private
Gospel

Pure salvation
Spilling answers
Between walls
Which hardly
Speak

Now accustomed
By default
Where relief
Is keeping
Quiet

Despite begging
Shuttered windows
Let us leave
Before
They close

Knowing somehow
Being blessed
Makes that illness
Much more
Special

Risking joy
Outside confinement
When precaution
Fails
Its task

Hiding truth
Behind closed doors
Seeing families
Spend
Each moment

Still unsure
Tomorrow’s promise
Seems sufficient
Though time
Wastes

Missing sun
Upon thick skin
Built while braving
Threats
Too modern

Since religion
Offers safeties
Beyond science
Grim
If wrong.

– J. Pigno

By on

Fill us not
With anger
But the courage
To die in vain
And believe
Our efforts wasted
Were sins
Of a living proof

That lies
Begin each dream
Chasing prospects
Deemed unholy
Through their worship
Once entitled
Among gods
Whose throne is cash

Now uncertain
As they seem
Losing heavens
Between heartbeats
Fallen victim
Facing choices
Buying breaths
At highest price

Despite answers
Called unfair
Finding illness
Drives obsession
By persuading
Human armies
Whose own swords
Are fear made flesh

Pointing weapons
Towards themselves
Only brandished
For destruction
Against bodies
Still divided
Always whole
Though being split

Down the middle
So it goes
Every moment
Faith should vanish
Giving evil
Ample reason
Eating minds
Without much hope

Missing health
From fame excess
False success
Where sudden danger
Rears distraction
Revealed deadly
Masking substance
Beneath wealth

While misfortune
Becomes strength
Building nerve
Beyond good measure
Knowing age
Prefers indifference
Never taking sides
But time.

– J. Pigno

By on

The rain fell
In my sleep
Where I’ve dreamed
So long
Of living

Despite
What nightmare
Waited
Outside these eyes
Held shut

Where each daylight
Showered dust
Bearing heat
Which felt
Like scratches

Amid sunshine
Raining ashes
Down from clouds
Whose sky
Was scorched

Touting flames
With sharpest tongues
Claiming God
Preferred we
Suffer

Under brightness
Speaking judgments
Proving demons
Won
His war

While no angel
Worth her weight
Ever saw
Those lies
Defeated

When our hopes
Remained in ruins
Straying far
Away
Through fear

Watching flares
Spill burning tears
With their sparks
That dropped
Derision

Upon faces
Still too arid
For redemption
Moist
And just

By assuming
Darkest storms
Fared much better
Than
Old worries

Against cinders
Smoking gently
Between evenings
Lost
On grief

Learning water
Almost gone
Won’t replenish
Come
New morning

Facing choices
Hardly wagered
Despite answers
Dry
But real

Left deciding
Fates unknown
Every night
Since we
Surrendered

To existence
Now forgotten
After waking
Death
So warm.

– J. Pigno

By on 2 Comments

She said
I was now
Her enemy

And perhaps
That hurt me
Most –

Knowing
This heart
Couldn’t handle

Anymore beats
That should
Skip

Out of learning
The worst
Isn’t death

But assuming
Fear
All around it

Preserves
What life
Can betray us

Faster
Than breath
Should escape,

From lungs
Whose air
Is belief

Each symptom
Felt
May distinguish

Between
These senses
Deluded

By panic
Or dread
Without cause.

Since friends
Are forever
Some curse

Holding times
Too dear
For forgetting

Within
Both hands
Put together

Aiming blame
Like guns
At our heads,

Confirming
Love doesn’t
Last

When parents
Raise
Little children

As thorns
Not blossoms
Excited

To share
Such flowers
They bloom.

– J. Pigno