The Bane Of The Cancered Soul

THIS POEM IS NOT PRESENTED AS I INTENDED (ie. DOUBLE SPACED).

THIS HAS BEEN DONE BY PERSONS BEYOND MY CONTROL

THUS DIMINISHING THE READING EXPERIENCE.

🙈

There is no god in England

(I learned of that this day)

For when a man is stricken

He has no more to say.

He lies in expectation,

The end to shortly be,

Torment is blindly gazing out

Through eyes that barely see.

The blaze within his body

Radiates, and yet,

The chilling of his very soul

Allows him to forget.

With sonance all around him,

The sobbing and the tears,

He listens to so many words

Whereas he hardly hears.

And so, within his restless mind

His hopes are all he'll keep;

All he'll find to warm his heart

As those about him weep.

And in the darkness of the hour,

When all is done and said,

He sleeps the sleep that comes to pass

And rapes his weary head.