When all discussion is complete; when all debate has ended; when all factors have been considered - what I post here comes out of my mind...
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
Conversations with Cancer
Shall we converse until my end?
I like to think I know your ways,
Though, we play hide-and-seek most days.
I search each crevice, bump, and crack,
And fear to find you looking back.
I swear, because you’re such a fright,
I hear you laughing in the night.
I look behind me on the stair,
To catch you following me there;
And though you’re never there, I swear
I sense your presence ev’rywhere.
Oft we have fought, and battled hard --
Old dogs who share a broken yard;
Though we will take no other lives,
Neither can win while one survives.
Yet, my facade remains serene;
Our vicious battles rage unseen.
Shadow companion, hear my voice:
Conflict with you was not my choice,
Though I am happiest, it seems,
When I defeat you in my dreams.
But, nonetheless, whilst morning dawns,
When dew bedecks the sleeping lawns
And birds and bugs fill warming air.
You, cold companion, always there.
When I stare into the abyss,
When I consider all I’ll miss,
Because you siphon strength away,
Because you take your toll each day,
Because your fingers, bloody, red,
Sate appetite that must be fed:
I wonder, do you feel remorse,
As you begin each baleful course?
I talk to you, but do you care?
Are you impossibly aware?
Do any words, when I complain,
Mean aught to thoughts on other plane?
Do silent tears shed in the night,
Mean anything to living blight?
Know this, dark pestilence obscene,
If you can garner what I mean,
Because your silence, no reply,
Mocks both my courage and my cry,
My fierce resolve will amplify,
Until the day I feel you die.
When I your savagery outlive,
There will be nothing to forgive.
As promised vengeance draws e’er near,
It’s time for you to feel the fear!
Diplomacy doesn’t always work.
Posted by Mick at 1:54 PM No comments:
Friday, April 12, 2019
Icy incisors slicing through the flow.
And once again my world is cold and white,
Fortunately, I have nowhere to go.
This turn of Spring to face old Winter’s ire,
Foul aggravation to us passers-by,
Is fear of facing Summer’s coming fire --
Embracing shadows rather than the sky.
With halting steps the sun resumes her reign,
Overcoming vast, chill proclivities.
Green voices soar in warmer songs again,
And bring the long, white season to its knees.
Vast choruses of Summer sing to me,
Overwhelming Spring’s rare velleity.
An April snowstorm is common here, and yet it always feels wrong.
Posted by Mick at 12:35 PM No comments:
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