Incurable and Terminal

Every tick of time is true treasure.
Every sight is miracle and magic.
Every sound is magic and miracle.
That dust and water became flesh and blood.
That a former piece of ground can hear a sound.
That a former piece of night can see a sight.
Yet ticking time, in its flow and flight--
Slowly, swiftly, surely--takes everything back--
Little by little, and one by one--eclipsing the sun.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Sometimes something goes wrong in nature's course,
And the flower of life is flattened with furious force.
Why?  I have searched the horizons and heights--
Never yet have I found a satisfying answer.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Cancer cloaks the clock in clouds;
Cancer burdens the mind with blades and blights;
Former free love of life is ensnared in funeral shrouds,
And bitter taste is added to every sweet.
Upon the forward road falls, like a smiting fist, 
A cold mist of obscuring fear.  How short now seems a year. 
How frighteningly fleet.
Now death is far too near.
Cancer tosses into the trash so many future calendars.
Time is the feel and feed of future life.  Cancer cancels time.



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Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on Friday, November 19, 201  4:34 am PST 
60 degrees F.   Humidity: 23%   Forecast: Overcast
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael L.P.  All rights reserved