I know you; we’ve met
in the darkened shadows,
where you cower, and reign
your power and terror upon
the ones I love; or have loved.
A black fisted glove clenched in victory.
A thief in the night,
strikes as horribly in mid-afternoon,
or April Sunday mornings, without warning;
a plague most verulent. Never repentant,
nor indiscriminant, an ignorant disease
bringing to their knees, all hopes and futures planned.
Your wish and command stands defiant,
and reliant on the grief and sorrow of those
that will someday follow, by your “hand” or
some other insidious grip. No radiance
or chemical drip can clip your wings for long;
your grasp is strong. Buying time, but never enough.
Many things left to say, but tough!
As lives in the balance dangle to mangle
and devastate; a wicked fate. A silent coma,
from this carcinoma. The victor.
Life’s restrictor. Never paints a flattering picture.