One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
Holy Sonnet X, John Donne
Jeez John, the older you got the more you
Worried about our universal end.
Your flamboyant youth, no doubt, contended
With your late found piety; your soul’s hue
No doubt, seemed a bit too black, and late rue
(You wondered) might not serve enough to mend
That soul’s torn cloth, allow it to ascend
When darkness struck, when that last trumpet blew.
I grant, your sonnet’s final line strikes hard.
But what the devil does it mean? Death dead?
A nice conceit. With luck, you weren’t charred,
Escaped the fiery fate that fueled your dread;
Sentient, eternally, to hear those hordes
Of angels humming major seventh chords.
(11/6/07)