Death Of A Young Man Poem by John Anderson

A gray haired man in his 70s; hiding the spring in his step
A thriving man in his 20s; except he is dead

And as I sat in the crowded room
of hunched shoulders; an air of doom
'It isn't fair, ' an empty voice said
As if only a senior were ever that were dead

The grizzled old man felt guilty for being old
Like he'd stolen years, or cheated a toll
And no one asked did the kid smoke or drink?
'Cause he was far too young, was all we could think

But as I listened, looking like I was praying
I came to realize, none of us will be staying
The boy wasn't robbed, for years aren't guaranteed
At this point I realized our lives have no deed

At the heart of recalling this person we lost
forgetting the way he approached the day's cost
Because he was young, assumptions we made
That we all have tomorrow: a truth betrayed.