The Timeline
(dedicated to a friend)



A doctor’s idea of humour fills no empty cup of cheer
For nothing is here, but fear.
His one great deed
Did all to kill me there – heartfelt.
If near ever was a time to seek promises in Gods,
Or that one we’re taught to be supreme,
It is now.
This is the cancer of my soul.
And though literal
I feel less whole than this psychotherapeutic wow –
I refuse to shave my head
And I refuse to tell.
Well, I’ve told just one
And before the day ends there may be another;
A gathering of pity and sympathy that frankly emasculates me
Like pulling my gut anally
This is inhumane.
Oh God,
If you are who they say you are,
And maybe who I want you to be at this moment,
Even the who you should have been before now,
Why must this disease eat away at my core?
Why am I on a timeline of death,
As if being born was not punishment enough?
As if dying is what I was born for…



© written by Stephen A. Dantes.

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