Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bruce Nadeau Jan 2020
What's this inside of me?
Tell me when did I agree
to become a host for something
attacking my temple, my body.
Chastened by my lack of breath
trembling like a nervous wreck,
this feeling is not who I am,
bombarding my simple abilities,
trapped, I really cannot see.

Reflections of life flying past,
anticipate that my memory lasts,
that I won't simply disappear
collecting my thought, all my fears,
while wiping away poisoned tears,

Somberly fighting against
the trembling of my lip,
as I listen to the slow
tranquil, cisplatin drip...
falling are poisoned tears
as I float on out of here,
so low at holding on,
not always feeling so strong,
yet I'm not ready to glide,
help me, find a place to hide,
my will to stay is being denied.
A friend dying from cancer asked me to pen her a poem in my style of writing, this is one of a few I have done.

— The End —