C is for Cancer

Death has come for me.
He is perched at the edge of the forest with his horsemen.
I have heard their thunderous footsteps off in the distance, breaking the loamy, dew covered ground.
And now they sit before me, come to claim their bounty.

Yet their equine, they prance, dancing as if spooked.
Their riders, they hesitate.
In the gentle, shadowy forest looms an ardor of willpower, of might.
It rolls quietly from me like a fog, thick and dense, consuming all within its reach.

There in the forest I plan my battle.
Slinking not from shrub to arbor, hiding from my foe, I stand, facing him, in the sunlit clearing.
Though undoubtedly he will posses my body in the end, death wavers.
He waits.
He stumbles in his confidence as my rolling fog threatens to envelope the foot of his steed.
For before us lies a battle, one of depth and profound length.

Ahead of him in the clearing he spies his reward, his aspiration- steady and focused.
Valor radiates from within this small warrior, my mission unwavering, my preparation immaculate.
My exuding power undoubtedly conferred from my King.
He has assured me victory in the end.

Death, being aware, he quivers.

Sunlight glistening from my auburn locks, I taunt,
"Come and get me."