As Death, I Am Inept

This was for the 'If You Were Death' Competition

My way is not mine; it was decided by those,
Who knew it would come when people would fight.
They would fight against time and nature and death,
And so I was conjured to make unwillingness disciplined.

I am inept when it comes to feeling sorrow or guilt,
For those who I collect when their time is through.
I am simply a transporter of the souls they have,
I do not know if they have lived in virtue or have sinned.

Some people do fear me as they think I am to blame,
Others worship me like I am accountable for something great.
But I neither hate nor love, or even appreciate any of this,
As I am inept of feeling, and of seeing the principles of what I do.
But I do not care that I am inept of any feeling,
How would I know what it feels like to care; I just exist.