 |
|
 he pain is not severe
Constant, it seems to tear
At my confidence
I have no patience
Frantic, I search for explanations
Indigestion, new sensations?
I yearn to find my answer
Is it over? Is it cancer?
Returning to rob me of what's left
If it is, am I bereft?
How will I face this final fate?
I run each day, I feel so great.
Denial overtakes again and again
That's my answer to the pain ...
Blood tests as negative as my mood,
Seem to indicate it is imagined.
Everyone is tired of my complaints,
Mostly me, I feel totally chagrined.
In desperate solution, I advance the CT date,
Four weeks early, robbed of them or simply not
too late?
Like the moth flirting flittingly with the flame,
Russian roulette has become my game.
An appointed time, early in the day,
I want out, I don't want to play.
No room to maneuver, no one wants my burden,
I feel so alone, so afraid, but I can't cry ...
|
|
|
