Death, Defeated Shall Ye Die

A destroyer O Death ye thyself call, Mere toy, no less, art thou to Destiny, It's Time O that in time devours us all, It’s cosmic scheme, call thee no Almighty. And O Poor Death, those that ye think ye kill Never art slain, live on god given grace, In slumber they get blest, it’s not thy will, They just shop to get new life, newer dress. Not just toy, slave thou art to divine will, No more than a trigger in hands of Fate, To its design art thou called ‘pon to deal, Dire sceptre ye wield, but at whose dictate? Ye well know that soul lives eternal life, Flesh alone dies, in vain doth bleed thy knife. ___________________________________________ Sonnets | 10.11.2008, revised May 2023|