I know a word,
Six letters long,
That destroys.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That kills.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That encompasses an uncertain future
Of needles and lab tests,
A word that can't ever describe the feeling
Of knowing your body is killing itself.
I know a word.
Six
Letters
Long
That rips away vitality, leaving only
Empty ghosts in sterile beds,
Laughter replaced by hushed doctors and quieted sobs and
The incessant, steady beeping of a heart monitor.
I know a word,
Six letters long,
That leaves a husband crying
Over hospital bills at a kitchen table,
His son standing silent in the doorway,
2 AM.
I know a word
Yanking soft great-grandmothers and innocent children
From here to the ceiling of the clouds,
Six weeks, six months, six years
Stealing hair and smiles and health and hope,
Leaving a drawn, hollow skull
Staring
At the abyss.
A word,
That makes you feel powerless,
An ant trying not to drown in six feet of flood and fire.
A word
That has claimed countless lives,
Forced springs of tears to well in miserable eyes,
Produced pictures of black sorrow at
Rainy gravesides.
I know a word, six letters long,
Called CANCER.