Of Cancer

Cancer is a cruel creature,
That creeps up over time,
Insidiously, invidiously,
Violating in silence.

And even a man who is like an ox,
Who holds his head with pride,
Is brought to his knees,
By this invisible foe.

And despite the greatest foresight,
This timebomb ticks too quick,
And thoughts once so prominent,
Rest on words left unsaid.

Then in the final moments,
As cancer runs its wicked course,
When stoic silence is observed,
Pain is understood.

Friends Of Momentous Years

When you are young,
Say 15, 16, 17,
You make the best of friends,
The friends who last,
The friends who know you,
The friends who love you for you.

When you are young,
Say 15, 16, 17,
You don’t know your friends,
The ones who will last,
Who will always love you,
Even if you never speak.

But as you grow old,
Say 30, 40, 70,
You will find the friends,
The ones you love,
When time has past,
And time means nothing.

The Instincts Of A Father

I always told myself I’d die for you,
But I’ve never been able to test it,
Because I’ve never been to that place,
And I’ve never been forced to face it.
Then today we were hit,
From behind when in the car,
And whilst reacting,
My feet did what they did:
Clutch in, brake on,
But one hand didn’t react as it should,
It didn’t react as it could have
Had I been in the car alone,
It flew in a flash to my left,
And stopped the boy sat next to me
From hitting the dash,
And the first thing this narcissist said:
“Are you ok?”

Losing Laura

There is a girl I never knew,
In the woman sat before me,
Within her familiar frame,
Her soul searches for some sense.

In the distance dances a memory,
But it’s lost in whirling confusion,
Her hand held out to follow,
That which others cannot accept.

Then there’s the bittersweet moments,
Of tragic clarity,
When loving eyes and heart align,
Before glazing over again.

“I recognise you!”
“I’ve loved you since you were born!”
“You can call me Auntie Laura if you like?”
“Isn’t it funny we share the same surname?”

“Goodbye Nanna.”

Forgiveness Must Start With Truth

No more fear of the face of hope
And do not fear the glance of ages.
You have done destiny’s demand,
His commands don’t assuages;
For all men must forgive their youth,
And they must stand to face the truth.

No more fear of justice’s sword
Your moral shield should take the hit.
Do not worry of petty scores
Working men will stand should’ring lords,
Laws and Science know no excuse,
For all things must defer to truth.

No more fear of premonitions
Or those drenching, despairing dreams.
All is out and torn asunder,
When you shoulder your contritions,
And the history you must smooth,
For forgiveness must start with truth.

Written after reading Fear No More by Shakespeare

Hope Is But A Butterfly

Hope is but a butterfly,
That flutters in the mind
And dances almost whimsically,
Around chances, it does find.

Emerging from its waxy shell,
Where beauty has been grown,
To realise opportunities,
Previously unknown.

Thoughts kiss the transitory orb,
That lights a future course,
Of endless possibilities,
Where wings beat tornadoes perforce.

My Death Date?

2022, September the 8th,
My death date.
This premonious fate,
That my dreams lead me to.
My hypochondria screams,
A condition I cannot speak,
Over a decade and a half later
And I still count each week.
Everything I feel,
Everything I sense,
What happens around me,
Validates my fears.
But now the years have wound down,
The weeks rapidly pass,
And days fly by,
Racing to the hour, minute, second; my last.
When all is past.
Or not,
And then what will I become?
A phoenix reborn?
Or a broken being,
With wasted years,
And lingering fears?

Questioning Health Anxiety

Fifteen years with this health anxiety,
A secret I guard of what I fear will be,
Research and rituals, and irrationality,
And the all-clear tests that don’t set me free.

My every waking thought is framed by this curse,
Made worse by paranoia and depression and remorse,
So I wither and I dread this may run its course,
To leave me alone and lost or worse.

Each new day brings me closer to the last,
Or has that day been and done, and past,
I am stuck in an agony I should’ve surpassed,
Aghast, I know the die I cannot uncast.

Fifteen years of mental brutality,
Tortured by my own actuality,
My vitality lost, along with my voice,
My Silence. My Sanity. My Health. My Choice.

The Doctor’s Secrets

I know things,
Secret things,
Secrets that must never be spoken.

I am a secret collector.
Entrusted with the secrets of others
And the bearer of my own.

I hold these secrets near,
I hold them dear,
I revere them,
I fear them.

Sealed up,
In this virtuous repository,
A cargo I stow away,
For honour, love and duty;
For eternity.

A New Year Sestina

At home, we meet the New Year,
With an embrace and with dancing humour.
It wasn’t long before we went to bed,
To where we’d played a little earlier.
As New Year’s celebrations still sounded,
We dreamt of another year together.

We have met years together,
Growing in our lives with each passing year,
In each, fireworks and church bells have sounded.
In all, we’ve tried to live in good humour,
More so than we would in lives earlier
And we end our long days in restful bed.

A haven of rest is bed,
Where in the silence we are together.
If we enraged each other earlier,
We know resolution will form that year,
Because battles can’t outlast the humour
Or the passions that this great love sounded.

And how to them it sounded.
Those times we silently took to our bed,
Could they not know the overarching humour,
That the nights mean that we spend together,
As weeks, months, become a year,
And we head to bed all the earlier.

And as I said earlier,
When magic words and noises have sounded,
And special things resonate with the year,
There’s no better place to lay than your bed,
Where our hands, feet are entwined together,
Enveloped in our own special humour.

We’re lost without this humour,
And brought back to those places earlier,
Where weren’t we ourselves always together,
Until at the end the claxon sounded
And when then retired to a peaceful bed,
To welcome the New Year.

Together we push forward with humour,
After a year, like those lived earlier,
When fireworks sounded, we retire to bed.