Photography by Gabriel Matula – Unsplash – Poem by Joni Caggiano on Saturday, June 5, 2021

Shall I rise today and put on my face?  If so, which face shall I paint.  I suffer like a lamp whose light no longer shines or a piano whose keys are missing, yet still strains to coerce a tune.  Are these the penances the angels bring, for there is nothing but anguish here?  Might they break my chains like those of Paul and Silas?

Quiet, as my tongue is cut without the use of a knife or razor.  Bitter cold, your words can prove to be the optimal scalpel.  Blinded by your glare, disappointing looks pour concrete into every pore, forming a visible disenchantment. 

I will climb the thorns of the wayward vine that wraps itself like veins around the oak.  This act will extinguish this life by hiding my adoration of the…