I’m not ready Dad,
don’t decline
don’t head down that road
that can’t be rewound
I know it’s life
and this creeping thing
has silently waited
bided its time
through pills and treatments
and monitoring pressure
but you’ve kept quiet
about the true measure
of this cruel disease
that may take you in time
brought about in a decade
of oppression and blame
where you didn’t reveal
kept it secret, the stain
until backed into a corner
that your life it was draining
we were put at risk
I wrote letters fuming
I’ve moved on, now just broken
feel the depth of the sadness
this residual plague
may take you too soon
Let it not be now

Let this be a fluke