Derrick Hubert Schnabel
Metastases - Poem by Derrick Hubert Schnabel
i have become a thief of the night, stealing precious hours;
that hated word, metastasis, which makes soon become now,
so easy to hate when i need mostly to love somehow.
do not mourn my passing or miss the friendship that is ours,
grass is still green though we stand in a desert bleak and bare.
around me ghosts listen, my words glint only as fool’s gold;
with the depth of a blind man’s gaze i see i’ll not get old,
we earn what we get and nothing comes for free – wisdom rare!
there’s a great deal i can change, even more that i cannot;
i’ve learned to live with pain, fatigue replacing energy,
i’ve learned to accept if with sorrow, those who have left me;
why count the cost of lost dreams, discarded hopes – i dare not!
the friends who remain teach me to accept my death with grace,
their love and their caring will guide me to a kind safe place: -)
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