I Walked With the Reaper

One night I awoke to a dream A figure of prominent terror hovered Over my bed and asked me If I’d travel with him I joined him though my skin crawled At every breath he heaved Raspy and gurgling behind his dark tattered cloak. I dared not look at him for fear he’d look back Crippled over and cracking with every step. I walked with him to a field Laden with even laid stones No names, just the stones. He stood in a painful position I thought And I wondered why he lingered at this spot “Torment knows no names,” he said And rose upright so high that it startled me And my core felt penetrated as if frozen in ice He was the Reaper I thought, He’s come for me. He then lowered back down, and silence, More hallowed then death itself, Haunted my thoughts. ‘I’ve walked this road alone each night For as long as I can remember,” he echoed “You’re the first to come with me.” I felt a sort of strange pity come over me And I placed my hand on his shoulder As we stood in the dark shadows. Suddenly the sound of distant voices circled my head Beautiful voices singing from a brilliant light. “the dead don’t walk with the dead,” he said softly “the Living do.” As he finished his words, his cloak fell flat And he was gone. A pile of rotting black cloth remained. I awoke to a woman who was hollering out “My child, I nearly hit you!” I was standing in the night air In the middle of a covered bridge. The headlights so bright I couldn’t see past them. She wrapped her coat around me and Walked me to her car. The coat she wrapped me in Was a black cloak.