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Cell Mates
Cell Mates
Freedom’s cry is dim indeed
when one can roam the world at will
and never have the path impede
the goal, and be imprisoned still.
A gaze into my mirrored eye
and I can see what others fear;
a victim of biology
with cells that walk the prisoner.
While others have a radiant smile,
I have a radiation burn
that pulls from me a forlorn frown
and tufts of hair, each in their turn.
My rebel organs rising up
within my chemo mixing sphere
I fight to draw a line of death
for cells that walk the prisoner.
Within my quiet battlefield
I fall upon my own grenade
and hold to hope, however mild
that bad is killed, while good is saved.
And so in quiet desperation
I stalk myself, and self inter
my rebel suicidal faction;
those cells that walk this prisoner.
© Bart Breen 7/16/2001
This poem is amazing man! It had me captivated until the end.
These are some very deep words and makes me look at cancer a whole new way, thanks alot!