If God is real I’m angry. Holy theft
Is no excuse for youthful death. I cry
And pray, but it’s too late. Until you left
I had refused the thought of heaven. I
Feel guilty for not knowing the whole truth
Of death. To wonder what is after life
Is painful when we’re stuck in naïve youth.
Our hearts and minds are stabbed by grief: a knife.
What if I had been there for your last breath?
I cry. I’ll never know, would you have smiled
To hear my voice before the calm of death?
In terms of life you were only a child.
We won’t forget, our hearts they wear your pin.
For you, I’ll be aware of what’s a sin.