We built
Our nuclear gods
And winters
In which they
Flourish

As nightmares
Oddly worshiped
With fears
Too real
To dream

When suits
And filtered masks
Are vestments
Built for
Service

At rites
Of raw destruction
We practice
Far from
Home

To carry
Raging storms
Across
This timid
Landscape

Toward churches
Growing empty
Where families
Pray
They pass

As agony
Looms en masse
Through clouds
Like burning
Vapor

Of mist that bears
Redemption
By cost
Called imminent
Doom

While truth
Of shattered glass
Depicts
Our shallow
Remnants

Like TVs
Blown
To pieces
As anchors
Tell us wait

Before
Each bomb erupts
Without
One final
Warning

Inside
Those tiny
Windows
Of signals
Leaving scars

Asking
How our faith
Can lead
To such
Acceptance

Of fallout
Seen as justice
On hands
Of equal
Men

Believing
Science saves
Instead
Of how it
Festers

Much like
What they tell us
Is deterrence
Safe
And good.

Kneel
Yet brace for change

Ignore
What’s coming
Later

That peace
Is killer gospel

For now
It’s Sunday
Mass.

– J. Pigno