Passing

I didn't ask for him to die And I didn't ask for your fantasies disguised as comfort Your faith sickens me Don't force-feed me your lies about what makes a man move, makes a man think Makes a man do anything You expect me to believe that the soul continues Sitting on a puffy white cloud, playing a harp with formless fingers Enjoying an eternal reward for playing your game of top-down morality You expect me to buy the idea that what he was can still be How do you remove all that was he From the meat-machine of blood and guts and brain that sustained his consciousness I don't want your feel-good blanket woven of denial I need to accept that Without reason, without a greater plan, without fairness or justice A person has stopped being a person and become a lifeless corpse The horror of it doesn't make it less true The tragedy of it doesn't diminish what he was We're all just leaves blown by the wind Sometimes passing, sometimes touching, but ever-moving Water without a glass Just spills and seeps away