"Lord, what we are, we know; but not what we may become."
            --Ophelia, from Shakespeare's Hamlet


Just one short year ago,
I was such a strong person.
True, I understood that in time's flow,
Good things can go bad, and then worsen.
But I felt strong enough to deal with anything.
I also thought I could always figure out a way--I was so smart.
In my kingdom of science and philosophy and poetry and art,
Magical mathematics, logic and language, strange beautiful physics and dazzling astronomy,
Geology, paleontology, anthropology, archaeology, enlightening soul-deepening literature and history--
I felt favored--a blessed one--well buoyed on life's bright surface, amidst life's dark deep mystery.
I had the freedom and power of a good mind; and I felt secure: I was my life's own King.
I loved knowledge.  Money never meant much to me.  Just enough to pay for life's necessities--
And beyond that, my books.  My books, which I loved above nearly every other thing.
My life was also blessed with the greatest joy of all: a sweet lover to please me, and for me to please.
What more could my happy man's life require, than such fulfilled desire?
My life was good and glad and gifted--so beautifully blessed--with such wondrous joys as all these!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I had lost jobs before; and found new ones soon.
I had lost love before, and sorrowfully wept;
And then later, again, beneath the bright full moon,
With God's greatest gift, a loving lover, I sweetly slept.
I had suffered health issues before: but my inner strength
Enabled me to fight through them, to the end of their length.
For always, I outlasted every pain, every grief, every loss, every sorrow.
I could easily endure any trouble of today, by looking at my long bright tomorrow.
All that I most wanted, I had; all that I really needed, was mine.
Now, all of that strong happy life is mere memory. 
One year after my diagnosis, all of my memories of my full happy life sting me and only dimly shine.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Now, almost all of my life has shrunk to this:
Remembering sadly all my lost past happiness;
Fearing even more now, because the chemical injections--that keep my cancer in remission--
Are only guaranteed to work for one year: the year almost over--past which, is fearful hope and wishing;
I'm suffering--cold-bloodedly exiled outside of my support group--still scorned and rejected--
Not treated like a human being, whose life has value--heartlessly excluded--depressed and dejected;
Enduring, without that once happy help, the lonely days that step me toward painful cancer death.
Enduring also the Caligula-cruel inhuman sick side effects which, along with remission, are injected.
Wistfully, I recall the rise and fall of my last lover's breasts, as she in sleep sweetly drew her breath.
Gone now.  Loving is all gone.  Like last year's snow, when I was given my great fear and dark woe.
I'm suffering the memory of pleasure--with all but its trace and ghost denied me now, as I suffer pain;
No love, no lover--no one for me to love!--no one, ever again, to love me!
By the treatments, my muscle mass and bone density decline; and I am disabled from loving women.
My world is now a bad world of sad loss; and it will never again be for me a good world of glad gain.
I always outlasted every bad thing before; but now, this cancer, and the horrible medical treatments,
Are almost certainly going to outlast me.  I am now thrown to the final flight of losing impermanence.
I am now feeling the pain of losing life's last light. 
Time's fatal bite is harshly testing me to the limits of my endurance.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Still, I love life, and I fear death;
And I treasure every breath--
Every new breath, that--in my grief-filled brief last light and love of life--God now allows me to borrow;
Enjoying, as gratefully as I can, whatever little joy or pleasure I am still able to find,
While I am losing my life: and, maybe--first--losing my mind.
Tearfully and fearfully--
I push on--hungry for every bittersweet moment of life--hoping and praying, each day,
For one more tomorrow.

=======================


--Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Copyright © 2010 by M.L.P. All rights reserved