Death

Trying to make a sonnet about death
For most it is too vile a thing to do
My inspiration not from Shakespeare's Macbeth
But from life itself which is mean and cruel

Ever experienced hatred's power
Heating up crimson red until it boil
Turning even the most good-willed men sour
Conjuring concoctions there to unfoil

Just without a simple liquid called blood
The fragile human life cannot survive
At funerals, they will shed tears like flood
Not me, because it's too late to revive

True when they say life isn't fair my friend
Best is to be prepared to meet The End