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Archive
Home arrow Poetry Corner arrow Telling My Son
Telling My Son Print E-mail
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Written by Sheryl Joy P. Olano   
Friday, 20 October 2006
"We can't always do the things we can."
A cancer patient's story...

I'll not paddle on a sea

Nor touch my feet on a shore

Nor carve a mountain

Nor scan a forest without

A word in the air

For your curious ears

 

I'll not lay a critic eye

On a director's latest fruit

Nor pass a night...

Without breathing a word

Of tenderness in me

To your sleeping form

 

I'll not shed a tear

Nor moan in pain

Nor sigh for the

Short-sheeted time

 

What I cannot spill

With my choosing mouth

I'll blot with ink

And the paper can

Speak for me

 

It's the only way

I can ever think of

To leave you unempty

'Cause I cannot say

How long this body

Can keep up with

This fast-paced journey

 

I'm sorry if I must

Leave a scar in your heart

I have no choice, I can't

Make my leaving painless

 

Because this fiend

I'm fighting inside me

Could someday consume me

Till I'll never wake again

 

Be good, my son

And grant me a smile

For me to bring with me

To my eternal sleep.

Last Updated ( Friday, 03 November 2006 )
 
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