Lymphocytic Blarney Bent to the needle As it scours her marrow, Deaf to each well meaner's prattle Of grape extract and root of the tarro. Held hostage to this demon Lodged between her life and her soul. She is a shambling fount of sickness As radiation extorts its toll. So far beyond the mystery Of why fate handed her this. If only his heart stopping words Could heal her with his syllabic kiss. Bent to the promise Of the same again tomorrow. Callous to the platitudes We can offer from our paltry sorrow. Held hostage to this mutation That is eating her essence away. A righteous anger seethes At the price paid in waste and decay. So far beyond the mystery Of why fate handed her this. If only his heart stopping words Could heal her with his syllabic kiss.