The Pen and The Wind

What if love is but a disease?
A infection transmitted via blood and air,
That inflicts us with it’s madness, not allowing proper function,
And seizes us wholly until it has spread all over,
Slowly killing the host from within if symbyosis is not acheived,
And leaves when the heart is too damaged to go on.

Love must be a virus, 
For there is no cure or treatment for it,
Until you face that near death so many times,
That you build up a natural immunity, 
And the infections come less frequently.

The crazy thing though, 
Is that you miss the infections,
You miss the madness, 
And you curse your built immunity,
For that is the disease’s best trick,
It makes you crave for it,
An eternal parasite that we love to have. 

This poem is for a friend, who has a dear little friend that’s in ill health and dying. I hope this is some comfort to her, and to anyone else in that position. 

You took me in, 
And I took you in.
I was a bit of a rogue, 
And I could tell you were too,
I liked you from the first moment,
Though I didn’t let on too much for that fact,
I preferred that you worked for it,
It shows your depth and level of care.

And you proved yourself time and again there,
You built up a home for me and many others,
And always put yourself last,
Throughout blazing heat,
And devastating cold,
Throughout injury and illness,
You did all your could for us, 
A spring of compassion that did not ever cease.

I know, I might have made things hard,
And sometimes, I made things hard for you,
But no matter the annoyance on either end,
I could always tell deep down, you really loved me,
And I could tell you knew I felt the same.

They say if you are a familiar,
You do not choose, or are chosen,
But rather are purely destined,
And if that’s true, I’m glad I was destined for you,
You’ve made my life, and made me, so much better,
And when I do leave, I know you will fight and grieve,
But I’m not worried,
I know you’re a strong one,
And I helped make you stronger,
As you made me.
Just know I love you,
And I am happy,
All thanks to you.  

Cramps and queasiness fill me,
Nausea is about to kill me,
This illness that will not cease,
On my mind and body it does fleece.

Sitting down to a boring and bland meal,
Hoping to break this sickness’ seal,
When the illness begins to take control,
And made my perceptions of things unroll.

Time jumped forward in leaps and bounds,
Then slowed to a crawl, and even rewound,
The walls’ colors began to fade away,
And sounds began to linger and stray.

And just like that it was all gone,
And left me without a semblance of what went on,
A distorted world to an illness riddled mind,
Is something no one wants to find.