Every single day
Things die,

To the point where
Faith doesn’t matter

And existence remains 
Between heartbeats
Still skipping like fears 
On repeat –

These thoughts
Which embitter belief,

Feigning hope
Despite knowing it’s senseless,

With an end before grace
Unexpected
Seeing God himself
Have a laugh.

We are those eyes
Looking back,

A grin unsure
Why it happens,

His cosmic joke
Given purpose
After suffering ills
Heaven sent.

These memories
Are words merely said,

And pictures our phones
Will keep showing
Off immortal glass
Where we idle

Forever till dirt
Takes us back.

• J. Pigno