The Grim Reaper

The crows have gathered

Wreathing across the grey sky

Swollen with grief 

Before descending the crooked limbs 

Of an old oak;

Bending their heads

In solemn piety 

For the grim reaper

Approaching with the shadows;

Unseen to the natural eye

Hooded cloak draping

Grass blades tipped in crimson

Bearing memory

Of the place where she died;

A wraith roaming the shade

Wild daisies kissing at her feet

But without preamble

His scythe tears apart

Her gossamer soul

And she screams through

An imagined agony

Fighting to keep

The familiar burden 

Of spilled emotions 

Until she realizes

She is finally free…

2 thoughts on “The Grim Reaper

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