How reprehensible the man
Who, when death’s crew enters the room,
Stands firmly up before they can
Take hold, and, dignified though wan,
Walks with raised chin towards his doom.

How pitiful the creature who
Gulps frail yet resolute goodbyes
To all and sundry that he knew,
Being so brave as to hide from view
The reddened nose and teary eyes.

How abject he who shifts to faith
All the responsibility,
And smiling palely, waits for death,
With no drive to prolong his breath:
It’s His will – what will be, will be.

The heart that muscled through the years;
The eyes that marked the coloured time;
The mind’s daily-expanding spheres:
Betrayed by wrathless, placid tears
Of vile acceptance of this crime.

No – futile though the battle is,
No one was born to feed the soil;
We all may stand by the abyss,
But though the darkness will not miss,
It cannot force a single smile.

So when the rope loops round the neck,
Embrace it not as destined fate,
Or whisper gently, ‘make it quick’;
But writhe and curse and glare and kick
With all your life, with all your hate.

by Khor Kuan Min

"Rage, rage, against the dying of the light."  Only with more irony and contempt. Dylan Thomas better grow some balls because he's just been served. Love it.