No clock is set, no horn is blown;
the path is cleft by unseen hand.
The hour is lost, the stone unshown,
no foot may mark where ends the land.

It bides behind the blood and bone,
through bitter frost, through burning rain;
it hears no oath, it heeds no moan,
it knows no pity, spares no name.

A thousand boasts, a hundred cries
are scattered like the chaff and seed.
The proud are fell...

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Inspired by John Donne's sermon Death's Duel, this poem examines the profound dimensions of death: deliverance from its grip, sanctity within its grasp, and redemption through Christ's ultimate sacrifice. Rendered in a solemn yet reflective tone, it contemplates the mortal journey towards eternal life.
 

When first we breathe, the womb becomes a gate,
Where life begins—a trembling, fragile st...

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