They Always Say

They always say the good die young,
but I never thought it would be you...
with all your laughter and all your joy
    so contagious
I never dreamed you'd leave so soon.

And where were you taken, that sunless day,
when the sky poured acid in mourning?
And why did you of all people have to go...
     so young
     so certain
     so beautiful.

The questions tormented a thousand days
     a thousand dreams
     a thousand tears and more.
And I could find no solace in the words they spoke...
the reasons they conjured up to put meaning
     in the senseless.

They always told me the good die young
and now I understand why.

The good in us is born of generations of lives
spent trying to turn this black planet to gold.
And your face was fresh as the dew on unbroken spring grass,
but your soul was a hundred years old--
     a brilliant Victorian clock wound down to nothing but dust.