If death could be as bad as this sick life,

I’d fear death ten times more than now I fear.

All I need is for a surgeon’s knife

To cut from me the cancer-ridden sphere.

Then I could once again become a man.

Then I could once again have hope of love.

The sands of four past months of life that ran

 Have made me cry for mercy from above.

 No mercy fell; I’m still in hell on earth.

The surgeons will not touch my little chance.

The wasting days for me have little worth,

If I can never hope to have romance.

They take away my manhood with each shot,

And what it does to me, they cold forgot.

=======================


Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka Mr. Poet
Written on  Thursday, April 9, 2009  7:50 am
Copyright (C) 2010 by Michael L.P.  All rights reserved