Death be not proud !
We are Rembrandts a slowly decaying piece of art
So much time was dedicated to make us
Our only hope is for someone to truly remember us for what
We stand for! Many admire us but only a few can
Comprehend us; we are complex structures of lifes design fuzzy
HOLY SONNETS X.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die. - John Donne