It makes sense
Things would end like this
On a 3 AM ride
Into silence
Down hallways dim
Growing longer
Hearing wheelchairs squeak
Underfoot

Where our quiet descent
Watching numbers
Allows more room
For my fearing
Of atomic gods
Which await me
As they count each floor
Towards despair

Even knowing mom’s there
Being tortured
Never falling asleep
While I’m missing
Besides that bed
Barely resting
Just seeing her kid
Fall apart

Yet knowing how age
Can’t sustain us
Or tomorrow’s grief
Remains looming
Since your only son
Was too fragile
For those harshest truths
Always sad

In their lives gone wrong
Without notice
During hopeful strength
Getting tested
Since they scan him now
Lacking purpose
Other than faith
Feeling hurt

By doubting God
Through his pain
Down corridors lost
Facing questions
No symptoms ask
Seeking answers
Finding nothing
But worlds come apart.

• J. Pigno