War Poem in our Time of Madness
At the hour when it seems we’re about to send more troops to die, and the madmen at the wheel of the Ship of…
If illness by Allah is science fact
then its cure is
science fiction by a mad
scientist we hope’s on the right track
his beakers abubble his machinery abuzz
the light in the air growing youthful
peach fuzz
a pasture of health in the distance
waiting for us
to arrive in one piece and
run on its grass
into the open space
of His Merciful Face
5/28/12 (from Down at the Deep End)
Categories: Poems, Cancer Treatment
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