Cancer The Cruelest disease

Cancer, the Cruelest Thief

It does not knock, it does not wait,

it does not bargain, love or hate.

It creeps beneath the skin and bone,

it takes, it takes, and leaves us alone.

No mercy in its silent tread,

it steals the light, it drains the red.

A voice grows weak, a hand turns thin,

a battle fought, but none can win.

We hold them close, we say their name,

but still, the thief will play its game.

No prayer can bribe, no plea can save,

it takes them slow, then fills the grave.

It does not care for love or grace,

it marks its claim on every face.

It hollows cheeks, it bends the spine,

it drains the soul, it steals the time.

The cup half full, the book half read,

the unsent words, the tears unshed.

A whispered dream, a hand unheld,

a thousand things left still unspelled.

We watch, we beg, we rage, we plead,

but cancer has no heart to heed.

It takes the laughter, dims the light,

it drags the strongest into night.

And when it wins, as it so dares,

we’re left with echoes, empty chairs.

A crueler hand was never dealt,

to those who leave, to those who’re left.

May god heal every broken heart this poetry touches