It's Cancer

This poem is also for my friend's mom that died. Enjoy.
So pale.
unsmiling faces.
so frail.
It's Cancer.

I see tears roll down their cheeks.
Their pale, cracked lips.
They may only have a few more weeks.
It's Cancer.

That sharp IV.
Always poked in their arms.
Because it is the fee.
Of Cancer.

That white gown.
Never their own clothes.
It makes them down.
It's Cancer.

Find a cure.
Help them live.
Then they will be happy for sure.
No more cancer.
Published: 4/19/2008
Reflections of the Mind...
Bouquets and Brickbats