P

In eloquent verse
Humankind tamed a curse
From ash made a flower
And so final hours
Should reek of its ghastly perfume
So we thought
We were wrong, 'twas our doom
We believed that a tomb
Could be morphed to something less crass
And in houses of glass
Night began to throw stones.
So we stood in the bones
And renamed them as if they were pretty
Come sonnet, come doggerel ditty
We wipe our brow and beat our chest
Proclaiming we do not fear death
Yes, we claim there's no fear of the dark
But our celebrations lack heart
For beneath our illusion
There's no real confusion
Dark is dark, night is night
There's no such thing as a glorious fight
There are no safe paths to inclusion
Our glamour, delusion
There is no grandeur in death.