Death Sonnet
by Gennie Alberti
When we sleep we dream, than wake and start anew.
Death is sleep, where the soul wanders, changes.
The birth is the morn, the spirit with no hue.
The path repeats, locked in a mortal's cages.
The dead is lost, berieved and mourned.
The new welcomed, rejoiced, the loss is grieved.
The passed's memory richly adorned,
and into the Death King's house recieved.
But eternal sleep shan't claim you full,
"The End" not signed on your book's pages.
But some wood taken from the sunk ship hull,
and built into new ships for ages.
So plant your seed inside their minds,
and through your deeds you will never truly die.
by Gennie Alberti
When we sleep we dream, than wake and start anew.
Death is sleep, where the soul wanders, changes.
The birth is the morn, the spirit with no hue.
The path repeats, locked in a mortal's cages.
The dead is lost, berieved and mourned.
The new welcomed, rejoiced, the loss is grieved.
The passed's memory richly adorned,
and into the Death King's house recieved.
But eternal sleep shan't claim you full,
"The End" not signed on your book's pages.
But some wood taken from the sunk ship hull,
and built into new ships for ages.
So plant your seed inside their minds,
and through your deeds you will never truly die.
