The Diagnosis by Debra Parry

This poem, The Diagnosis, is one I wrote last year a couple of weeks after
Mum was diagnosed with late stage cancer.

The rollercoaster's turning

Our stomachs are churning

The fires of hell are burning

We've been on this ride before.

There's no let up with cancer

The spider web dancer

The covert chancer

Slid under the door.

It's made its appearance

Too late for clearance

Leading its savage dance

On and on, more and more.

Spreading like wildfire

Its wanton desire

To drag through the mire

Certain, sure.

Hundreds are dying

Their loved ones crying

Chemotherapy vying

To keep the beast at bay.

Will it ever be cured

No more unsuspectings lured

Or is its future assured

As it wends on its way?

Twelve months, two years?

No time for tears

Allay all your fears

This is her death, not yours.

Cruel, advancing

Strutting, prancing

Cancer, the bastard,

Alive on these shores.

The rollercoaster's turning

Our stomachs are churning

The fires of hell are burning

As it follows its course.

We couldn't prevent this

Cancer, relentless,

Put affairs in order

No time for remorse.