On Cancer, Guns, and Hit ‘n Runs

The chemo sessions wore him down,
He so despised the sterile smells,
The chatter, beeps, and flimsy gown,
And then those plain disgusting gels.

But no more thoughts of days gone by,
Of chances lost, of things begun,
And multitud’nous reasons why
Some of those things just won’t get done.

No, none of that. He closed his eyes,
And saw with utmost clarity
The very light that clarifies
The meaning of reality.

Deceased, 12-20-88

She wore a smile of gratitude,
And softly blinked to see just how
Her crazy life had been renewed,
Was tumor-free for eight years now.

Her loving husband, bratty child,
A recent job promotion, and
Their town home fashionably styled,
All came together just as planned.

She left her car to cross the street,
When, BANG BANG BANG – no time to dive,
Her body hit the cold concrete,
And sprang the rest of her alive.

Deceased, 8-13-94

Returning from the library,
He tried to navigate his thoughts
From English and Geography
To complicated scatter plots.

He’d battled cancer as a child,
And thought that was his hardest time,
Until that college kid went wild,
And shot him in a tragic crime.

Disease and wounds had left him strong,
And strong he was in times of strife,
But then, that night, something went wrong:
A drunken driver took his life.

Deceased, 11-6-08.

I am amongst you even as
I breathe, and wince, and laugh, and cry;
I’ve been with you from evermore.
Deceased, mm-dd-yy.

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