Poem: Why the good die young.

The Good Die Young.
6-10-03

What do you believe,
when the good die young?


Do you believe:
The good die young,
and no one knows why.

Do you believe:
The good die young,
and all we do is cry.

Do you believe:
The good die young,
and all we do is grieve.

Do you believe:
The good die young,
and all we do is deceive.

We deceive to ourselves,
that it should have been me.
We deceive to ourselves,
that we don't want to believe.
We deceive to ourselves,
that this is not fair.
We deceive to ourselves,
and pull out our hair.

I make not light of this friend.
For the question you need to know.
What do you believe?
Now that it's your turn to go.

Take my hand,
and the answer shall be yours.
Take my hand,
and stand at Death's doors.
Take my hand,
and soon you too will be.
Take my hand,
and come take a walk with me.