Death, Be Not Proud

Holy Sonnet 10: Death, Be Not Proud”
 I've never really been a fan of poetry; maybe because i hardly ever understand them. There's always this hidden meaning that eludes me when i read them. However, i believe poetry is beautiful and i'm learning to understand em.

 Enough about me!
Today i went digging for the greatest poems ever.
Number 1 was actually a Sonnet by Shakespeare; but that just seemed way too cliche. So instead, i picked the 2nd greatest: a Sonnet by John Donne.
Enjoy:

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.

Whilst digging, i was rewarded with the meaning of this poem. But hey, i don't want to ruin it for you.

What does the poem mean to you?