The Sharpness of Death...

...Death, you've become obscene.
Nobody calls you sweet or easeful now.
You're in the hands of philosophers
who cut themselves and bleed,
and know that knives are sharp,
but prove with complex logic
there's no such thing as sharpness.
              - Gwen Harwood ( I couldn't find my full copy of the poem, this is but a snippet of stanza one)