The Shame

To die is to quit the struggle.

Therin lies the shame,

that there is shame,

and struggle.

While chasing a ball as a kid I happened upon a squirrel in it’s final moments,

down in the brush, pumping heavy breaths while ants crawled from it’s mouth,

and over it’s eyes.

A mark left on innocence. A moment to rob the romance from death;

to display the cold, hard truth.

Death is ugly, and unfeeling.

Death is not proud.

Death shan’t die,

as the poet do.

Therein lies the shame.