In realms unseen by naked eyes,
A battlefield of life defies.
Cells line up in fragile rows,
Where cytotoxic danger grows.
It slips through veins, a silent tide,
With power fierce, no place to hide.
Its purpose clear, its mission cold—
To seek and strike what it’s been told.
Cancer’s hold, a dire blight,
It aims to crush with all its might.
Yet, fierce resolve does not discern
What cells to kill, which ones to burn.
In error’s grip, pure cells may fall,
A consequence we risk for all.
Healthy forms once full of grace,
Now feel its wrath in delicate space.
A double-edged and brutal hand,
To cleanse, to heal, it roams the land.
Through flesh and bone, it carves its path,
Bearing both salvation’s wrath.
Yet hope endures through pain and fear,
For those it saves, it holds most dear.
With every strike, a chance renews,
A future bright, yet tinged with blues.
So here’s to cells, to strength, to loss—
To bear the toll, to pay the cost.
For life is fragile, fierce, and strange,
Where cytotoxic forces change.
