Another Poem About Death (How I Tire of Them)

I want to have faith that
I understand death
better than some
since I’ve seen
its face before.

But I admit it –
I’m just angry.

Mad at death for taking you
and mad at you for going
so swiftly and without a fight.

Mad at myself for being selfish
enough to believe that you didn’t
fight longer and harder than anyone.

Death does that.
Makes us irrational.
Makes us forget and
makes us remember.
~2/28/13

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