I'm not sure if this is against site rules, however I'm going to paste a poem by the poet John Donne from... I think maybe early 17th century. I think it is very educational and thought provoking concerning the concept of death, if you are able to interpret its metaphysical metaphors. If you guys have questions about it, I'd be happy to try and answer them.
''Death, Be not Proud'' - John Donne from his Holy Sonnets.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.