There are no
Heroes in death
Or war
Which eliminates
Bias

But the cruel
And breathless reminder
How our world
Has had
Its fill –

Still tired
We credit belief
In men
Who apparently
Wasted

What Earth
Had initially
Gifted
Before this cough
Made sense,

Now finally
Leaving us sick
Without even
Asking that
Question:

“If human lives
Were so sacred
Than why
Would they sully
Themselves?”

Perhaps
Only fools
Should grieve,
Passing these days
Without reason,

Losing business
Fearfully wishing
Their ills
Were tomorrow’s
Cure –

Finding failure
Means more work
Behind eyes
Unknowing
Though weary

Under systems
Heavy with burdens
All alone
Weighted down
On sin.

Since hope
Is appearing safe,
Selling masks
Where faith
Doesn’t matter

If assuming
God had intended
Torture
Was appropriate
Fate.

– J. Pigno

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

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

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