The clock becomes an ineffective forlorn
to the dying cancer patient, pain’s maidservant
idly postures an indispensable stronghold, as
morphine respites the rush of aches for an hour
and lulls into peremptory sleep, pallid breaths
and dreams of miracles drought all optimism,
soiled bedsheets of putrid urine and stained feces
mock the debilitating sentence, time is but the
syringe of equable compromise and inherited demise
welcomes the night as the sunlight of the morning
loll the postponement, all gloom disposes of any
reconciliation, dispirited desertion, and wringing
discomfort beckons the allotted hour, the synapse
of living and dying becomes an abject agonizing
trepidation, alas, the scoff of death is the sword
of incurable and inveterate scorn, death’s bed is
cold, unwelcoming, and isolated; gratuity’s splendor
withers away all pleasantries, time a reverent enemy,
surrendering the last pendant of honor becomes
the mortal rebuke and life’s last mutinous embrace
mocks the golden hour with illusory and agonizing
abandonment, solicitations to any good or pagan
God sought to assuage disillusionment and grief
befalls back in an echoing and resounding deathly
silence, faith’s deceiving and corrupt, there are no
pearly welcoming gates, there are no streets of
endless glittering gold, only ignominy, and defeat, for
all we love will be loved no more and wretchedness
will fall upon every victim borne unto this world, only
death will secure your place in an urn or reliquary, what
was once squandered shall never by chance again.