The Reaper

I’ve rent suckling babes from wailing mothers
succoured the old and infirm with the bliss of nothingness
ripped hearts and minds to shreds
as I stole life from under protective arms
every footstep resounded to banshee screams
as my gift of oblivion was welcomed with curses
and yet I stayed true to my duty, my belief strong
but the eons have worked their soft magic on me,
eroding my belief with every curse,
my skin now weeps with nerves open to the
overpowering stimuli of the world,
every whispered imprecation clanging inside me for eternity
the prospect of rest is not in my horizon
its absence leeches what little is left of me
At times I’ve stationed the blade of my scythe to my neck,
pushed it with all the force I could muster
but it refuses to gift me peace
i wait unfulfilled,
cursed for eternity
This poem was directly inspired by an offline conversation with a friend who was drawing a despondent Death.

