B

I'm angry at his death
For all the wrong reasons, I guess;
At 3 no one should have to leave
How do their parents grieve?

He did not deserve to go
And me; I'm angry I had to know.
And guilt; that I'd rather look away
And deny such things happen;

And fear; that it could have been
My child. The innocents.
I shudder. There are no words.

No proper ones, anyway.

And so, I'm given away. 
Only emptiness remains,

And for me my selfish anger
And for them their gaping pain.