Colin F. Jones


The only thing that cannot truly die
Is death itself, for death suffers not from life.
It has no form; it has no living eye;
It has no love, no consequence with strife.
Tis all controlling day’s perpetual night
That works its will, with time its pliant tool;
Choosing not between what’s wrong and right,
Without distinction between a sage and fool,
Death treats us all as equals as we die.
For bodies rot the same despite their dress
Even though we raise our banners high.
Death, by noble deed, we can’t impress
For death, that black hole we fear the most;
That truly is the soldier’s final post