JUBILATION JADED

JUBILATION JADED

Amidst these rumblings of a cure,
This crumbling of the research dollar,
The stiffness it is choking and sure,
Gripping my neck like a dog collar.

Forgive me if I sorely lack,
The energy for a victory dance,
The pain shoots like devils through my back,
Their pitchforks at the ready, I scarcely have a chance.
It’s treacherous waters into which I have waded,
My hope has dissolved, my jubilation jaded.

Amidst this dance of dreams and hope,
I struggle in my way to cope,
At times I struggle through undaunted.
At times this body’s a house that’s haunted,
The grisly bears encircle it,
Like Pooh bear circles the jar of honey,
I play the sacrificial game,
I pretend the weather’s sunny,
While the telethons and the walkathons
Compete for my dwindling money.

I believe in progress and for a long time thought the best,
Put aside my reservations, locked them away in my hope chest.
I’ve lost my faith in doctors who stand around and hem and haw,
I dedicate my brain to science when the undertaker calls.

Forget the victory parade,
Complete with fife and drum,
I’m not sure I will be here to watch it when it comes.
An inefficient spectator of life in all its glory,
I was 38 when diagnosed,
Have heard the cure in ten years story.
And now I’m fifty years of age
And have turned the half a century page.
Hope has receded, like my hairline it’s faded,
Joy is hard to come by and jubilation’s jaded.
Not ready to rocket ship into my grave,
Not ready to be helped to my wheelchair,
But I’m not a fool or a courtly knave,
Unschooled and unaware.

Amidst these rumblings of a cure,
The scientific logic sound,
The motivation good and pure.
I admit I’ve come a bit unwound.

I must admit I’m a bit bemused,
Much more than just a little confused.
The brain is not an easy thing, to isolate and analyze,
Stem cells, they may be the answer,
To clear these murky skies.

Amidst these rumblings of a cure,
I put my faith in whatever comes,
I’m a poet and not a scientist,
When all is said and done.
So I’ll open up my wallet
And throw down my last few dollars,
While disease, it seizes my throat like a vise,
Gripping my neck like a dog collar.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED