We’re alone
At the end of this world –

Still disturbed
And sullenly waiting

For an answer
Once spoken in symptoms,

Seeking pills
Knowing God’s unwell,

And carrying dreams
Through our germs
Letting empty words
Offer vessels
Of infected lines
Losing focus
Each time these ills
Try to write.

Their terms
Yield cancerous proof
How unsung hurt
Grows malignant –

Poetic relief
Seizing chaos
Those bodies so weak
Often tell.

Pain means fate
Drawing near.

Damages earned
Demand solace.

Truth brings death
Never witnessed,

An apocalypse
Held deep within –

Coughing up phlegm
After blows
Life’s long wars
Keep inflicting,

Getting kicked while down
Staying honest,

Now screaming out loud
That’s enough.

Some scars
Heal better ignored
Since wounds which bleed
Often thicken

Until such skin
Becomes ready
For enduring new scrapes
Yet again.

But viruses
Tear us apart.

Soon secretly simmers.

Curing them
Requires more miracles
Holding up walls
Humans build.

Providing hope
Doesn’t work.

Fear will pierce
Every armor,

Seeing darkness loom
Behind sunshine
Daylight hides
On repeat.

  • J. Pigno

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