I sang before I walked through these doors

With a cough

And a throat that became sore,

And sore and more sore

And more.

Lying masked on a table

Lying about how I feel.

Being cheeky

To keep up the pretense.

Moving the tension sideways

To avoid the death of hope

And the specter of death.

Grin and bare it.

Throat to the radio, veins to the chemo.

Endless hours of nothing happening.

No promises

Only good people doing their best.

While worse and worry hover.

Are they good enuogh? Who knows?

No promises.

I whisper, I creak, I croak, I cry.

I sang before I walked through these doors.

I will sing again.

I may whisper sound and imagine music

But I will sing!