The Orphan, a new poem.

I’m still working on this one (this is rough draft number five), but it’s beginning to take shape.

__________________________________

Cancer,
the silent killer.
By the time you see the symptoms,
it’s too late.

Blood in the urine,
bile behind the eyes.
Jaundiced skin
stretched over calcified bones;
you watch the organs fail,
one by one.

The palliative care
buys time:
say goodbyes,
write a bucket list you won’t start,
pray to a god you’ve never believed in,
and who never
believed in you.

Family grieves,
or maybe not.
Friends hold your hand
watching the IV
drip.

A long, discordant note.

Closure comes,
in ashes spread,
or held in a garbage bag
on a garage shelf;
broken Christmas ornaments,
and a rusted shovel
for company.

But some cancers are
less obvious.

A missed apology.
An unanswered email.
Blood spilled,
blood lost.
A broken bond.
Trivial wounds,
unattended
turned life-altering scars.

Silence.
Defeating, cacophonous.
Haunting.

Walls built.
Water thickens.

Crimson stains
are bleached away.

Some cancers eat the kidneys,
some
eat
the
soul.

__________________________________

Thanks for reading,
~ Victoria Elizabeth

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