Full Of Rancor
What is the answer to cancer?
Polymorph that changes shapes, apes other sicknesses and symptoms,
And changes size,
Surviving in the worst of grow-ground,
Killing cells around it;
Cells that form my friends, their friends,
My kin, their kin,
Drab little crab become that killer.
Is it sin, the sin within?
A secret, awful chain
All made before and after life began?
If that which makes us makes us,
I suppose that very that destroys us.
Do we mess up so madly?
Th’answer to this cancer business?
There is only guessing – badly.
Renaissance -- rapounzelle