Death, In Defeat Shalt Thou Die

Destroyer O Death ye might thyself call, No more than toy art thou of Destiny, It's Time that in time devours one and all, A cosmic scheme, thou art no almighty. And O Poor Death, those that ye think ye kill Never art killed, but take much deserved rest, They're in deep slumber blest by heaven's will, In truth, the soul shops to get newly dresst. Not even toy, a slave to divine will, No more than a trigger in hands of Fate, To its design art thou called ‘pon to deal, Ye might a sceptre wield, at whose dictate? And ye aught know: soul lives eternal nigh, Flesh alone dies, so in defeat ye die! ___________________________________________ Sonnets | 10.11.08 |