a dying friend

My dying friend

Today I met a friend
at the local café.
He had lost wight
his days were numbered.
No, he was not
afraid of death
it held no promises
of everlasting life.
I feared he might
say something stupid
as forgiving
his enemy, why should he?
Or say I love
to someone
he didn´t love,
because it was expected.
His hopes were
to be left alone
in a room and only
talk to his past
and perhaps laugh
a little,
Life had for him
Always been ridiculous