Four Poems by Concetta Pipia

 

When Dawn Arrives 

 

The mirror’s edge is razor-thin and cruel,   

It bleeds the truth, a wound that will not heal.   

 

Tomorrow, a ghost with hollow eyes,   

Will trace my breath where silence lies.   

 

The night devours its prey with tender teeth,   

I lie awake beneath its grief.   

 

No stars, just scars across the sky,   

And dreams that break but never die.   

 

My hands, they tremble—bones of frost,   

Hold the echoes of all I’ve lost.   

 

The dawn, it cuts, a knife through mist,   

Tomorrow starts without me, clenched in a fist.   

 

 

Dreams Unravelled in Shadows 

 

In the night, where clocks un-tick,   

Dreams, they stumble, backward slip—   

Illusions spun in webs, unknit,   

Time’s trickery, a serpent’s wit.   

 

Eyes closed, they see what isn’t there,   

A feathered fish, a wingless hare.   

Laugh, oh laugh, at what we weave,   

For truth is what we don’t believe.   

 

Awake, the dream is left behind,   

A puzzle with no pieces to find.   

But in sleep’s grasp, we’re all ensnared,   

For what is real, if not compared? 

 

 

The Dimming Light Fades  

 

The years descend, slow and certain,   

Like dust settling on forgotten shelves.   

Once we ran, now we shuffle,   

Age strips the gold from the bones. 

 

Memory falters, a dimming light,   

Faces blur into a ghostly fog.   

Conversations echo, empty and distant,   

As time gnaws away at the past. 

 

Mortality, that unwelcome guest, lingers,   

A shadow over every dawn.   

We count days like coins in hand,   

Each one slipping through our grip. 

 

The future shrinks to a narrow lane,   

Lined with losses we can’t reclaim.   

Old is gold, they say, but here,   

It tarnishes, as all things must. 

 

Nights grow longer, fear creeps in,   

We lie awake, feeling the weight.   

The body betrays, the mind forgets,   

What once was sharp is now dulled. 

 

Yet in this decay, a truth remains,   

That time is neither kind nor fair.   

We’re left with fragments, nothing whole,   

Old is just old, gold is gone. 

 

 

Twilight’s Golden Disguise  

 

A gold leaf’s secret turns, 

In twilight, a silence forms. 

Light bends in quiet curves, 

Meaning hides within the folds. 

Night unravels the day’s thread, 

Colours drift into abstract lines. 

Symbols murmur, almost unseen, 

As gold dissolves into thought.

Concetta Pipia is a writer, poet,  and editor raised and living in New York City.

Her work has been published in international anthologies and literary magazines including "The Raven's Perch," (2023) and "The Wise Owl" (November, 2023) and "The Suffolk County Poetry Review," (2024). She is an Administrator of several online writing groups and a Moderator as well.

Ms. Pipia attended Parsons School of Design (BFA), Touro University School of Law (J.D.), and the University of Phoenix (MBA/HRM).