Gone  Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

I thought I was prepared.
I should have known.
You weren't the first nor 
the last to leave.
I'm bitter, empty, lost.
I can't believe
you won't return.
It hurts to be alone.
Again come all the stinging questions,
'Why? '
I've often curse your picture 
right out loud.
I thought I saw you once 
lost in a crowd. 
I've called your name at night 
with no reply.
No touch,  
no call,  
no note,  
no sign from you.
It's so unkind,  
so painful,  
so unfair.
How can you hurt me 
when you know I care?
But someday
I'll slip out an exit too.
By this no loss of love
should be construed:
It's just it seems to me
the dead are rude.