At his death

At his death, as we tarried, some parried
Others, their faces wrinkled and pallid
For a comrade gone too soon
Or was it for ourselves, who know who's next before noon?
For a man in a sobbing voice had said
Did he not sit just beside me, and smiled as he paid?
Another voice came: surely, death no man respect accords
Yes, it strikes blindly at will, we concurred
Then word came no more, we all sat and drank
Our souls to stupor; of his memory we drank

As was expected , some lives change like this rhyme
For too little a time and lived sober
But soon back to former clime
Death and Damian remembered no longer

Life again was lived free, as free as this stanza
Emptied of the drunkenness of the soul- at his death
Went on adventuring and acquiring most rapaciously
And little thought for the ghostly way
But why did we forget, even in our stupor
To ask that question why!
Why Damian not Daniel nor Darby did death dip?
What is the qualification to be the choice Of death?
Surely not age nor fame
For I have seen infants die and peasants perish
So like the hen confused as to why
It is unable to pick a grain in a clear bottle
We hit our beak at the dark mystery
And worst still , without some stony words to break

Whether the answer came to Damian I still ponder
And will it come to us at our death? I still wonder