Like poppies, life is beautiful, fragile and fleeting, Remember you don’t have to be killed at war, To lose your life, Cancer doesn’t have to be rife, You can float through life striving for more, Rather than making the most of every chance meeting
We should be silent at 11 O’Clock Remembering those that gave us liberty, Stillness and quiet, is a dying art, Real conversations, swept away as we dart, About playing at being happy and busy, Losing your real life of simple pleasures that rock
Lathered up, I discovered you, The need to check, another thing to do. I never feared the worst, Preferring dark humour to outburst.
15thMay confirmed your type, Much squeezing, sliding and punching the site. Each appointment, test and scan with the hope of clarity, In fact presented with enormous situational gravity.
Stepping back; disassociating; directing proceedings: The only way to cope is through leading, The unknown and ambiguous ahead. The prognosis is grim from everything I’ve read.
Walking into the eye of the storm, Facing into the horror and ordeal become the norm. Treatment was the only thing making me ill, Relentless chemicals were a bitter pill.
Knowingly carrying you around for six whole months, Unknowingly growing you silently and calmly within. Knowingly poisoning myself in the now, Unknowingly letting go, as much as a control freak can subconsciously allow.
The time to cut you out could not come quicker, Your tenacious invasive nature just made this trickier. You’d hidden deep and scattered, You defied us all with your size and life, No longer lurking underneath, your little cells were rife.
Your type defined by what you’re not, No expert really knows what I’ve got. The way forward clear only for moments, Distorted and disfigured by new discoveries and documents.
The outcome is left unsaid, but known. The route unclear and largely unknown. The journey time unpredictable. Propelling myself by embracing the ride and the unthinkable.
Cut away and stored in pathology. Revealing you has revealed me. Speaking my truth has become my ‘ology. In the one sense tolerating less, in the other letting things be.
I choose to fight, but not to beat you, Fighting to live, but not for life, Each day is a gift of time in lieu, Getting paid and getting on with my things to do.
It’s my choice to live, to laugh, to cry, to shout, Being cheerful, learning as we go, is for me what it’s about.