A poem titled "Death"

Death. An inevitable occurrence, so why must it qualm me? 

An absence of something which once was. Matter shifting focus.

No one's truly gone, remnants of existence remains forever. 

Whether it be their once new clothes, now battered,  or the art they shared with many, they're still there...

So, why don't I feel assured?

Assurance is what I believe I need. I believe I want to be told it'll be alright. 

But,

It won't.

If a person dies, they are dead. You can't speak to them. You can't hug them.

Visiting their grave is sentimental but they aren't there. 

They'll never be there.