>Sight.  I can see the fallen, and the sparse tree-clinging, golden brown leaves.
>I can see the orange and gold light-fretted clouds of another sunset.
>I hope to see the bouquet of beams of many another sunrise.
>I look up at the sky at night; and then the sight of the once-believed eternal stars
>Fills my heart with mystifying questions and moody magic, through my eyes.
>I can see the dew-jeweled web that a life-hungry spider weaves.
>I can wonder at the wonderful wild world the spider simultaneously gilds and scars.
>And in my mind, so many images of things I've seen, I'll never forget.
>A newborn baby opening its eyes on life for the first time.
>The eyes of a friend that look on me with caring love, and with hope or prayer for my cure,
>And with appreciation and understanding of my heart's voiced verses of rhythm and rhyme.
>The deadly dark ink of certain inhumane philosophy texts sprinkled with snare-trap lights that lure.
>Seeing is wonderful and beautiful; but seeing is not believing, when that means being absolutely sure.
>But romantic, sweet erotic love--so decried by those who dislove life--is pleasureful, perfect, and pure.
>The lovely sight of one's lover, the source of loving light and love's sweet heat from life's perfecting fire.
>Primal source of newborn life; primary pleasure; prime bond of love between two lovers' hearts: Desire.
>I dream of the living light in the eyes of every lover I have ever loved:
>If the heart were the final arbiter, then by the light in lovers' eyes alone, God would have been proved.
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>Sound.  Birdsong beautifying the clear sun-lit air.
>Male birds, singing love to their lovely mates.
>The sound of my own singing, made to break through closing despair;
>As if I had power to charm the Fates.
>Infant life, a beautiful precious baby, cloying my ears with its coo and cry.
>The mother singing the magical love of a lullaby.
>Who can hear the music of such love, and believe that living light must die?
>I never could before; but now, the shadow of no tomorrow feels close by.
>The sound of the wind whistling; the mechanical clock-sound of minutes as they fly.
>The voice of every lover echoing in memory's ear,
>Makes me yearn for love again, sweet so-called sin, blessed by the bright blue sky.
>My love of life that tells me that I cannot really die.
>I feel the fear of the passing year; and yet this heavy hope is here:
>The aching love in my heart, that dreams I cannot disappear.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
>Scent.  Ah, the smell of roses!
>A scent that in archetypical love of life reposes.
>Yes, the honeysuckle, and the lilac, too; and the scent of every other flower.
>The stirring sweet scent of a lover's hair.
>To run my hands through those soft strands, I used to lose all sense of care.
>The scent of my lover's skin, kissed with my passionate love, my loving that captured and kept--
>Joyful and pleasureful--the terribly fleeting hour.
>Then the scent of the fresh clean sheets on which we afterwards slept.
>Death over life then seemed to flaunt no power.
>Smells of all sorts--hot cocoa, percolating coffee, green tea, baking bread--
>The smells of life, that make you glad you are not dead!
>The smell of a new-mowed lawn.
>The scent of our mother earth after rain.
>Then there is no hint of horror; no searing fear, no sorrow, not even a pin-point of pain.
>But in the rich luxuriant smells of life, as it dreams on,
>God's love for us feels real; and every bitter gall falls to nothing, and is gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
>Taste.  Now I must eat broccoli, spinach, Romaine lettuce (not iceberg lettuce), and cauliflower.
>Organic when I can.  It is holistically claimed such fare has preventative and even healing power.
>Raw vegetables when possible--or lightly cooked, as in Chinese restaurants.  What have I got to lose?
>Conventional medicine tells me nothing for my final end, except very bad news.
>But my holistic physician says that I can shake cancer's present treatment-pains and future shocks,
>With green leafy vegetables, carrots, sunflower seeds, and at least twenty-five walnut halves daily;
>Berries and fruits, beans, other nuts and seeds, colostrum, and twice a day six drops of detox;
>Esseniac tea; organic moringa tea; pomegranate juice or capsules, and some resveratrol--
>And who knows?  Perhaps I can keep together my body and soul--
>Keeping myself alive for my genetically gifted long life--
>Which cancer threatens to cut in half like a slashing knife.
>If I can get away from my chemical treatments, I may again please a lover, or may even joy a loving wife.
>No processed sugar; stevia okay.  Sea salt.  Blueberries, pomegranates, peeled or organic apples, pears.
>Bananas.  Goat yogurt, a quarter cup, sprinkled with four tablespoons of hemp hearts or hemp seeds.
>No cheeseburgers or pizzas, that's for sure--no sodas, nor diet sodas--if I hope to lose my cancer cares.
>If I hope to taste again the loving, living dream and pleasured life that a lover with his lover shares.
>On one side, the foods my taste buds crave; on the other, the foods holistic thought says my body needs.
>No steaks, chicken, or chops for which I wish; just salmon, cod, and other baked or broiled fish.
>Boiled or poached eggs only; or, rarely, fried--and only if fried in olive oil or coconut oil or canola oil.
>For salad dressing, only extra virgin olive oil.  And a teaspoon of extra virgin coconut oil every meal--
>Before or after.  All so the flesh that bounds reality will not spoil--so to keep living reality alive and real.
>Ice cream!  Well, I'm not allowed that.  Goat and coconut milk, yes; no soy milk, and nothing bovine.
>No real ice cream.  I can have goat yogurt or soy yogurt, or coconut oil, made like ice cream to seem.
>Yes, I'll taste that when I can; and I will be glad and grateful.
>My water must be mostly Ph balance 9.5; at least one-half ounce each day per pound of my weight.
>I hope it all will save me from dying a cancer death too terrible for anyone to deserve, so fiercely fateful.
>And not to die loveless--no lover to caress my loving--a hell my heart finds harsh and hateful.
>Whatever happens--whether I get gripped by this kind of cancer's painful death, or get away clean:
>I will be grateful to God for everything I have tasted, smelled, heard, touched, and seen.
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>Touch.  Ah, touch!  That's the one: the one that is most fun!
>They may not literally feed among the lilies, but they are very hot.
>Hot like the surface of the sun.
>Lips on the tips; and then the lightning rips,
>And tears through the clouds of doubt, despair, and hopeless fear.
>To touch my lover, and feel her hands touch me, was to have heaven here.
>Oh, God!  Grant me this, that before my life must expire,
>I at least once more may feel such heavenly fire!
>Indeed, I would not mind, if I must die, to die in love's desire.
>If not, well then--as I slip early into tragic eternity--
>I will try to die purely in sweet love's magic memory.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
>Facing death, and yet now still living,
>With every breath, my heart still feels thanksgiving.

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Written by Michael LP, aka PoetWithCancer
Copyright © 2011 by Michael L.P.   All rights reserved
(Copyrighted for my estate)