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Volume No. XVIII
The man who coined the word Had a terminal disease A realist who knew that language Strengthens, heals and frees Fear — the silent assassin Will bring you to your knees While faith can pull Excalibur From stubborn stones with ease The outcome of any illness Is never absolute No matter what the odds are The end is always moot It's only in uncertainty That true hope can be found And you can bet a sure thing Will always let you down He fought the "Big C" monster With spunk an attitude Another cock-eyed optimist You should not conclude So like the fallen colors I've taken up his word I'll shout it from the hill tops Till the echo can be heard He was no Pollyanna His word no platitude To things considered saccharine He was abrupt and rude In the present day vernacular He was a righteous dude Let's hear it for the man Who coined the word Spiritude!
This poem originally appeared in Ric's book, Words & One-Liners – Take 2.
Since February 14, 1999, poet/philosopher RIC MASTEN has been keeping an ongoing account of his battle with Incurable Advanced Metastatic Prostate Cancer — from diagnosis to the "Latest Update." He keeps this unique digest in poetry, musings and medical tidbits. Updating as the war goes on. He welcomes calls and correspondence from fellow cancer fighters. Visit his website at: http://www.ric-masten.net/Prostate.Series.html
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