A Life Blown to Pieces – Michael Roque

March 4, 2026

Demolition doesn’t kill—
festering—
finding comfort in rotten structures
held together by half-hearted renovations—
inhabiting a life
far past its date of expiration—
that’s the Grim Reaper’s slow caress
on a fragile soul.

A life blown to pieces—
is blessed.
Inhaling air
outside a black mold home’s contamination—
living far from its infestation—
it means to at last nap
without a ceiling above
threatening its collapse.

A life—
blown to pieces—
crumbling into a pile of panic
means climbing out,
cleaning up—
activating minds to will eyes
to find new foundations,
commanding two hands to build homes
with brittle wood and rough stone.