Not fair

I read a book once,

neither highbrow nor pulp fiction,

however,

it got me thinking

about the times I used to wonder

what makes a man a man,

and a man a coward.

Now I know,

I guess, I know, but rather wouldn’t.

I’d rather stumble through my thoughts

blinded by the glare

of crushing despair.

No, you’re not fair.

Your death may seem

like an act of God or nature

or whatever name was given to that force

by your teacher,

but deep inside,

where usually just the bile boils

and acrimony coins

new words to describe my hate,

I found a sprout of faith,

which I crushed so it couldn’t grow

and cast a shade.

No,

your death was not an act of God.

Don’t flatter yourself,

he doesn’t care.

You’re nothing special,

you’re not unique,

you’re not rare…

Your death wasn’t

a plan of the divine.

It simply wasn’t fair.