The Unthinkable

Some decisions weren’t meant to be made.

The cessation of treatment for cancer
looms before me like a silent
waterfall of black water.

The writhing pain
of continuing
on this path is equally unthinkable.

I stand at the turning point,
seeking signs,
tapping into prayer,
staring at the sky.

Some decisions weren’t meant to be made.

How can I continue? How can I not continue?

The trumpets at the end of a great battle
lift into the air,
the scores of dead bodies
surrounding them
are wrapped in silent prayer.

I can almost hear those trumpets,
as I lumber across the battlefield
on my horse.

Out of the corner of my eye
I see a formless figure,
crying out among the slain.

It is made of a dimming light,
it’s limbs are sounds of great color.

It is my own spirit.

It is my own spirit.

Crying out: “No more.”

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About Ben Dooling

I began this blog shortly after being diagnosed with terminal rectal cancer. It has since begotten a short book of poems, most of the poems came from here. Cancer has taught me more than it has taken. It has shown me my gifts, and what an examined life is.

One thought on “The Unthinkable

  1. Holy cow! The beauty of the verse is in sharp contrast to the cruelness of the subject. Not fair. Not fair.

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