Disease

| poetry | 
Clinging to life with every breath,
Dreams of a better tomorrow.
Gasping and gushing with nothing left,
As the bystanders look on with sorrow.
Her life was destroyed, by a familiar foe
That we witness, but cannot control.
As the charges pile up, and the lawyers are called,
They cannot retrieve the lives that it stole.

There are benefits and walks.
Small purple ribbons and countless of talks.
Rats and mice dying for the good of mankind
Bright minds, exhausted, hoping to find.
Someone or something that they can cure.
Someone - somewhere that can endure,
The burning sensation that runs through the veins,
The nausea, vomit, suffering, pain.

Hope is exhausted as days trickle by,
Millions of people continue to die.
Grandmothers, fathers, daughters and sons.
Lives torn apart without knives, bombs, or guns.
Horrors performed by something we cannot see.
A being that transcends our technology.

Flowers will grow on the graves of the dead.
The smell of bleach with smother the hospital beds.
The staff will be saddened and hope its the end,
And come back tomorrow with hopes to defend
The life of a mother, or lover, or friend.
Helplessly repeating this scenario over and over,
and over again.

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