I’ve become
This bitter demon
By losing faith
With questions
Like the kind
You just can’t
Answer
From bastards
Sporting wings

As they peddle
Hopeless guilt
Through beliefs
Not of my choosing
To establish
Lines of credit
For a God
Who houses
Debt

If prayer
Is losing fast
When that suffering
Seems accepted
As established
Gifts of waiting
For these sins
We often
Make

Where choosing
Hurts us more
By a fate
So rarely wrestled
All whims
Are lies transparent
From submission
To said
Will

Knotted
Like our souls
On threads
Of dying bodies
Awaiting
Final judgment
For that test
Which never
Ends

Starting
During birth
As we cry our way
Towards nothing
Inhaling breaths
More shallow
Than each one
That came
Before

Anticipating grief
Beyond
Such chance
Of smiles
For durations
Losing meaning
While we work
And fight
Too hard

Agreeing
Most won’t win
Or even find
Some solace
As experience
Finally shown me
How this illness
Is our
Curse –

A failure
Made of joy
And blessing
Oddly current
As the world
Which caves
Around us
Deserves that pain
It gets.

– J. Pigno