I Think My Friend Is Dying Poem by Jennie Radley

I Think My Friend Is Dying



The bony hand of death paints grey shadows on his cheek,
And clutches at his entrails, till the spasms make him weak.
The healthy rounded flesh of the young man has dropped away,
And a caricature stares out from fevered eyes today.
Medicine is marvellous, and all the experts say
Miracles can happen, new discoveries every day.
And my friend wants to live; so his claw-like fingers still
Grasp every chance of treatment, be it needle, knife or pill.

Sometimes, the treatment seems to work, and for a little while,
My friend seems quite himself, in the old familiar style.
And the acid of his humour is as sharp as any blade,
And the fear of what the future holds for him begins to fade.

But it hurts to see the hope with which he faces something new
Bludgeoned by despair as the warnings are proved true,
It's then he lashes out in anger, and we must just endure
His hurtful words for those around, who care but cannot cure.

At times like that, he sometimes says, 'I think I'd rather die'.
And the black despair of hopelessness and fear make him cry.
Then doctors have another try, and he is once again
On the whirligig of clutching straws and drowning in the pain.

Behind closed doors, we whisper 'He can't go on like this',
Then out we go to greet him with a smile, a hug, a kiss.
Stifling our resentment that dying takes so long,
Pretending that our faith and hope, like his, are burning strong.

I wonder when his end will come? Surely one day soon,
He'll have to give up fighting, accept death as a boon.
I'm ashamed of feeling this: and I think there's no disguise
For the pity and the guilt that he must see in my eyes.

I don't want him to suffer; why can't he, while he's sleeping,
Quietly stop breathing, let us do our share of weeping,
Surely he must understand, surely he'll forgive,
When he's become a memory, we have a right to live?

I know that the well of my compassion's running dry;
I fear it will not last out until his time to die.
We will talk of 'sweet release' when he is turned to dust;
But what release will I have if I betray his trust?

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