Cancer, You Are An Artist

Cancer, you are an artist A prolific one at that, For several dear ones Have encountered your work. Your wretched fingers as sculptors Design imprints of faces unknown. You smudge white, pain-ridden clay A little here, a little there, Till your subject becomes amorphous. But oh you are not finished! A red cross encrusted kiln Invariably cements your doings. A surgery of crackling and burning, Until the shape is spit out, A hard shell lost of all dignity. Satisfied with your creation, You give it one last look Before it rests on an earthly shelf And another project is begun. I am sad to say, You are quite skilled at your craft.