Doesn’t make sense
When life itself
Is a program
Like another game
Based entirely
On perfection lost
Long ago –

Our divinity
Digitally drawn
Leaving hands obsessed
With discoveries
Which find us
Retracing patterns
Never forwards
But stuck in reverse,

As fingers type
Writing laws
Over loops that lead
Towards confusion
From equations posed
Needing answers
But inventing gods

Since staring still
At these screens
Seems our liturgy learned
From inception
Watching parents slave
Behind keyboards
Thinking miracles
Can be reset.

This sacrifice
Simulates ease
While boredom waits
Fearing silence,
Feeling right
Until we have noticed
Today has passed
Between texts –

Gaining levels
Expertly played
Before heroes die
Facing riddles
Such numbered moves
Employ daily
Forcing mystery
Where there is none.

How happiness
Shadowed by doubt
Lacking save points
Holding my progress
Proves experience
Fabricates meaning
During chapters
Worthily failed.

  • J. Pigno


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