Mesothelioma... -

Mesothelioma... - Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR The flaking shed from the ceiling like flurries of snow in November... Lightly and deliberate, as if on a covert mission. Barely be seen, but always heard; the lungs always know; Over time the gradual flaking becomes the terminal illness, for behind the home that houses minerals with lethal fiber, are homes that house Asbestos and Mesothelioma... So many victims recorded, So many tomb stones laid, Too many people exposed just ask the lonely widows and fatherless children about Tuesday, September eleventh- of the year two-thousand-one; their stories will chill your spine- to the marrow...it will steal your breath; as it did to these altruist victims, heroes, each and one; for they must have realized as the death count mounted like moss, on Stonehenge. And all they could do is wait, and pray the symptoms pass them by; wondering, fretting with every breath: Is it me? My God, I was coughing all night. The lungs always know. FjR-MMXV- Repost