TERMINAL

The doctor gave me two months to live,
Well, it wasn’t the doctor’s time to give.
Considering he can’t give it back to the dead
It seems wrong for him to give it to me instead.
Body mind soul, losing control of each other,
They are coming undone from one another.
Body and mind and soul; strings once intertwined now
This threesome divorce, sign on the dotted line.
A marriage of fate was fertilization,
The honeymoon was nine months of gestation.
But in today’s world union only lasts so long
And we can only look back at the time that has gone,
Long gone, now look here and what would you say
If the doctor said “I can give you three months and a day.
It is experimental, and possibly detrimental, but I mean
What do you have left to lose but this last scene?
One last act, for the three others in the world with this disease,
Sign here on the dotted line if you please.”
What do you say, with the pen in your hand,
You can hear an answer in the hourglass, the words of the falling sand
And another in the paper crying out from the desk;
An internal battle: selfish or selfless?
But is it really that simple, for who are we to judge
The path we should take and the road we should trudge
Because no matter what we choose when we get to the fork
We will be making our choice in the dark.