illnessA Poem by the writer of woeJust a sad story about cancer.
What has become of you?
You were once the fairness, The shine of the day. You were once the gray on the sidewalk, The white of my walls. But how you are surrounded by a different white, That of a sheet and a pillow. The darkness of this room surrounds us, And I touch the needle in your arm. The wetness of tears runs down my face, And I see the whiteness in yours. Why is everything so pale? Must you be sick, what of our family? Why has our god forsaken us? They showed me the cells earlier. I know you're going to a great place, But I may not join you with my evils committed. I'll try better now that you're gone, But for all I know, This is goodbye. Forever. © 2015 the writer of woe |
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