In the graveyard at night,
When the Moon is full and bright,
I stare at glowing headstones.
No one thinks of their own.

Life moves at a constant pace.
In death, even a King cannot save face.
All must enter this passage,
With epitaphs honoring their vestige.

What manner of man,
To think he is greater
Than Death’s cold hand,
Grabbing you now or even later!

Author’s notes: “This came together by just pondering how the average person does not think “Death” will greet them, that they will beat death somehow. Ultimately, everyone faces death and the grave. When I wrote this poem, it was my answer to not only others, but to myself. I think we all at times think we are greater than Death.