The Perfect Assassin

One in two will have a visit from cancer at some point in their lives.

Love passages

Make the journey

Easier.

They have energy

Of purpose,

To overcome

Setbacks,

Tear down walls,

Redefine boundaries.

Lives depend on them,

And history is made

As young things

Die for them.

But they are

No miracle worker.

A panacea

They may be.

A distraction

From reality.

A maker of dreams

Holder of hearts.

But beneath

The warmth of love’s

Inviting cloak

Destruction

Darkly lies.

Nothing remains

Standing.

And with the

Certainty of

Each second

Passing,

Gently though

The hands tick by,

All living cells will die.

Disease will visit

The lives of even

Those

Who know such

Purity of thought,

As to wish

No harm

On any one.

And death

Will claim them.

It knows no boundary,

Passport control,

Nor early release,

Pardon or parole.

It strikes

In silence.

The perfect assassin

And never fails

To do its duty.

And cull,

The worst

Of life,

Along with

All the beauty.