Why is Frank Sinatra dead? He was nothing short of great. Why is Karen Carpenter passing? She was nothing short of excellent. Why is Freddie Mercury resting? He filled our lives with joy. Why is John Lennon rusting? He read the news today, oh boy. Why do we still have Paul McCartney? And yet, no Linda or George? Why do we still have Michael Caine? And yet no James Dean? Only the good die young. This line confuses and irratates me. Does this mean that Macca and Caine weren't good? Does this mean that Ol' Blue Eyes wasn't either? Why must the good die at all? Yet the bad seem to live forever? Why am I writing this poem? Do I plan to achieve something? Maybe, but I don't know. Why don't I know? Yet I continue to? Why?