Craig Cornish Poet Sonnet

I Died

The sepulcher within its confines hold
a withering shell where once a grand life spent
a journey both of joy and discontent -
of pain and love and stories left untold.
Too simple and complex I contemplate
mortality where souls are briefly weighed,
and conscience where the weight of sin is paid
against a deed of good that came too late.

So...what of death, a tax that must be paid,
and measured by the value of my worth?
It matters not - the plaintive cry "I tried"
when even that was honest truth betrayed.
Each day anew I celebrate my birth -
and not regret a humble life that died...

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