I’m afraid of things
Looking up
Because that’s when fate
Wields its dagger

And fearing God
Feels essential
From years spent cut
By His blade –

Sliced through faith
Showing wounds
Which heal far less
Than they fester,

Torn through age
Wearing weakness
While sick at seams
Sticking out

Since wishing again
We can mend
What obvious pain
Keeps us praying

When beautiful knives
Hide reflections
Like emptiest ends
Humans face.

These ashen tears
Rolling down
Such jagged masks
Hung in gardens

On statues gray
Tell their stories
With stone cold hate
Staring back

Towards frantic lives
Kneeling still
For chances gained
Playing danger

If wagering hope
Hardly worthy
But knowing defeat
Remains swift.

Our happiness reigns
Only once
Until kingdom come
Bearing judgment

Will smile before
Claiming memories
Were just heavenly sights
Being lost.

• J. Pigno