Diagnosis
(sonnet)
Diagnosed with a terminal illness
called life, I know it will end in death.
For more than seventy years, that end
has lived within me, walked beside me,
sat at my bedside, and shared my sheets.
We have shared so many things: laughter,
joy, victory, defeat, the soul’s dark night,
the winding ways of fortune’s labyrinth.
When cancer called, we faced it together,
and life won out for a little while longer.
Hand in hand, we are together again,
our ménage à trois, engaged in a three
-legged race, blindfolded, unsure of who,
what, why, where, and especially when.
rogermoorepoet 
Lovely poem-as heart beatings.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It is said that ‘life’ is a sexually transmitted disease that is always fatal.
However, it is not so much ‘how’ you die, as ‘when’, and the later the better.
I always say that I wish to be murdered by a jealous husband who catches me in bed with his twenty-year old wife, and when I am 120 years old! Or older.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Good one(s) John. I think I will just have to be satisfied with my Teddy Bear.
LikeLike
So well written, and so evocative!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, and a double thank you for the visit! Welcome!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bittersweet and so honest.
LikeLiked by 1 person
A tough one to write, but it needed saying!
LikeLiked by 1 person