I Hate You, Death

I hate you, Death.  You thief.  Robber.  Destroyer.  You take our loved ones from us but can you take them quietly and peacefully?  Oh no:  that wouldn't satisfy the likes of you.  You have to demean, wreak havoc, and steal joy before that last breath has been breathed.

I hate you, Death.  You take away dignity.  Instead of leaving us with pretty moments and memories, you choose instead to make life ugly, disgusting, and replace those good feelings with ones of debility.

I hate you, Death.  Often you come with warning--too much perhaps?  For when you prolong your visit, you tend to create chaos, allowing greed and angst to flow fervently whereas when you come silently, those emotions are often delayed and the loved one passes somewhat peaceably.

I hate you, Death.  You take away but you don't leave us empty-handed.  In your endeavor to take what is good, right, holy, pure, lovely, and admirable you seek to replace the good with ugly words, selfish desires, and wounds that may never heal.