The Cancerous Storm

Surgery is scheduled, I'm praying for God's grace,
the Biopsy's malignant— I stare cancer in the face.
This vilest infiltration has spread to outer nodes,
so chemo— radiation, are my pre-determined roads.
Let me see it with my soul, I coolly start to pray,
then I might just handle it through each and every day.
I get a sense of floating, so peaceful and so pure,
a raft upon an ocean, so warm and so secure.

But is this my reality; the calm before the storm?
Is this the real purpose, or my reason to be born?
Please help me God, I'm going to sink,
In this harshest of a storm,
At least that's what I really think,
My reasoning is torn.
Then voices come out clear; they say I'll pass this test,
the storm, it cannot hurt me, but I must do my best.
Look inward to my psyche, to the centre of my soul—
look inward to my body, the parts where I am whole.

I'll know from this, I stand a chance; I simply need to fight,
Even if it does have stealth, don't underrate my might.
I will beat this cancer.