Notes About The Poem
Written late one night in July 2016
Diagnosis
Written for Andrea Dietrich, a remarkable, talented human and sincere, caring friend
I’ve never even met her, we’ve never shared space,
Yet I continuously, tenderly, view her face.
She woke one same ole’ morn, on her same ole’ street
To retire that night with terror lying under her sheets.
She’s always been conscientious, responsible and prepared,
But she’s never dealt with this brand of scared.
It isn’t that bad news had never before appeared,
It just hadn’t carried such fierce shades as it neared.
I feel her frightened ache tremble and I silently shake.
My faith demands I believe He did not cruelly forsake
One who never selfishly sought her own delight
Over her commitments to living proper and right.
It must feel surreal to her that the world is the same
When her life’s been yanked, injured and maimed.
Everything must surely seem foreign and strange
As she struggles through fears web just to maintain.
Rudely, she was handed a nightmare wrapped in unfair
That I desperately wish my emotional sum could repair.
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