On a quiet day,
in a park, by the bay,
A friend came to say,
“I know this isn’t the
best way,
But there is something
I must say”
You wait patiently for
them to begin,
thinking about how today
they’d sinned,
“What is it, friend,”
you start, as the wind,
from the west blows in
“I am going to die, that’s
all you need to know,”
they say, staring down
at the snow,
A tear streams down your
cheek,
realizing you friend’s
future looks bleak
A hand on their shoulder,
to perhaps help them feel
bolder,
to face what is left of
like,
and avoid an existence
shadowed in strife
They smile kindly,
to elude your feeling
guilty blindly,
For they know you’re feeling,
that maybe you could’ve
done something
It’s true, they know you
too well,
that to them you feel
you should tell,
You open your mouth to
say you were wrong,
but it’s too late, they’re
already gone