The Reaper
I stand before the Grim Reaper, unafriad and ready.
My head facing forward, my back striaght, my hands steady.
A low hum comes from the cloaked face, two lights for eyes,
His arms lift, his robe blows in the wind, his head tilts toward the skies.
His scythe comes swinging down upon my back, swift and sure.
My knees buckle from the hefty blow, my vision becomes a blur.
I stand back up, look into the face of death itself.
I say, "I do not yet know my purpose, but it isn't complete yet."
"I have faced greater fears than you before, and many more to come."
"Your power is gone, my fear removed."
The Reaper, "One day I will have you, though not today."
"Waste the gift of life, and you will welcome me."
"My real power is when you call upon me, and I do not show."
"I can only take, but you can give."
That is when I found my power over death.
He can only reap, but I can sow.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment