There is no truth
I can face
Other than having
About this faith
Getting ruined
By appropriate thoughts
Feeling sick –

These crippling nerves
Always touched

And raw from blows
Being traded

During lifelong bouts
Against symptoms
Still swinging each punch
Under belts,

As sinister hands
Find their groove
When pummeling souls
Needing respite,

Battering wills
Weakly breathing
After doubtful lungs
Take abuse.

My belief
Is constantly torn
Between fighting God
Or His errors,

Worried since death
Means confronting
Sins man makes
Losing trust

In despicable needs
Nature yields
Proving selfish ways
Offer safeties
No deity’s plan
Could imagine
If love were the reason
It cared.

Perhaps such rage
Can confirm
How survival works
While existing –

Hating how heaven
Just watches,

But knowing that fear
Provides grace.

  • J. Pigno

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