Death Is Tail-Wind Of Change

Death, thou alone can make man what he's now. When flesh gets tired, life seeks a renewed lease, No end, no more than interlude art thou, It's thou that bestows life balmy new breeze. A tail-wind of change, no reproving-rod, A sceptre, nor yet chastising eyes red, Pound can ye tall peaks, or protect like pod, Ye make kings commoners, winners wilted. Poetic pens paint life in present tense, And life lived in a done and dusted past, O tell us how aught we call thee now hence, Ye open up morrows of promise vast, Without thee how'd life see rainbow's full range? A blessing art thou O Death, no revenge. _____________________________________________ Sonnets | 01.09.12 | Topic: death, change