Death Be Not Proud Poem by Randy McClave

Oh death, be not proud
Oh grave, be not shallow,
For outreaching your darkened hand
And refusing a boy to become a man.

Oh grave, I feel your sting
And death, I hear you sing,
From the lives that you did take
From the lives that we gave.

Oh grave, be not prideful
For taking the little child,
Refusing them yet to grow
Unto the adults, that they will never know.

Death be not proud
Stop being boisterous and loud,
For arriving like a thief
Then to fill the mind with your grief.

Death be not here
Do not bring your pain and fear,
Depression is your toll
When you break the heart, and steal the soul.

Death be not proud
Pain be not allowed,
Grave be not victorious
And sorrow, be not continuous.

Randy L. McClave