This is a poem I wrote back before I my poems started to rhyme every time, from the perspective of Death as a response to John Donne's poem, "Death Be Not Proud" which can be found here.

 

 

 

"Death Be Not Proud" by John Donne

 

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.

From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,

Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,

And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,

And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

 

 

 

And here's my original poem:

 

"Death's Response"

 

Though sayeth that I ought not be proud,

That my dominion is meager and small,

That my power is short-lived,

And under the control of mere men.

 

Though hast presumed my dominion over thee

Is limited to thy Deathbed

And that thy sleep shall be but a moment.

 

However, that is a lie.

 

I prey on thee when thou expect it not.

I shall Punish thee in Life, not Death;

My terror stretches abroad from my dominion.

 

It is I who shall eternally live,

For Death brings sorrow not to the Dead,

But to those they leave Behind.

Source: Death's Response (poem)