Grim

It’s true
I’d rather die
Than live in
A world
Like this

Which resembles
Almost nothing
Of what God
Had always
Planned

For His people
Feeling lost
Without choice
Or hope
For dreaming

New expressions
Found abandoned
By our nature
Frail
From fear

Growing weak
Through every breath
Stolen daily
As faith
Plummets

On one dime
No man expected
But those few
Who prayed
At home

Watching TVs
Crush their chance
To declare
Such private
Gospel

Pure salvation
Spilling answers
Between walls
Which hardly
Speak

Now accustomed
By default
Where relief
Is keeping
Quiet

Despite begging
Shuttered windows
Let us leave
Before
They close

Knowing somehow
Being blessed
Makes that illness
Much more
Special

Risking joy
Outside confinement
When precaution
Fails
Its task

Hiding truth
Behind closed doors
Seeing families
Spend
Each moment

Still unsure
Tomorrow’s promise
Seems sufficient
Though time
Wastes

Missing sun
Upon thick skin
Built while braving
Threats
Too modern

Since religion
Offers safeties
Beyond science
Grim
If wrong.

– J. Pigno

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