Bravest Man I Knew

Yesterday, July 3, 2018, marked the four year anniversary since my grandfather lost his battle with cancer. In my poetry class to end my undergraduate career, I wrote a poem about him that I meant to post yesterday, but got busy. It is written in Villanelle format– and its titled Bravest Man I Knew.

Bravest Man I Knew

By James Edgar Skye

For the one you love, it is hard to say goodbye.

To the man, my grandfather, the bravest man I knew,

they gave him six months, you fought a year and a half.

 

Cancer took the best parts of you. Slowly— always greedy.

You lost so much weight, and yet, you loved sweet Mexican pastries.

When the one you love is fading, it is hard to say goodbye.

 

A whirlwind of family, well-wishers, and nurses consume your days,

They surround your hospital bed, they shower with you with love.

Six months they said, the fight stretches for a year and a half.

 

A plain hospital tray held so many wonders, sweet pastries, candies,

and pictures of your granddaughters, the ones you share with every guest.

When the one you love fights, it is hard to say goodbye.

 

Your favorite time of the day, when your granddaughters visit,

they love you unconditionally, and always bring you smiles.

They told you had six months, you watched them grow for a year and a half.

 

It was fast, one moment you were there, smiling. It was just three days,

then you lost yourself, then you lost the fight. Cancer is greedy— it wants to live.

When the one you love is gone, it is hard to say goodbye.

They gave you six months, you fought bravely for a year and a half.

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My Granfather’s Thunderbird