The Soul of a Reaper

Long Has He Been An Unsolved Mystery,
A Black-Cloaked Fellow Who Keeps To Black.
Traveling From World To World, Alone,
Always Alert, Listening, To The Sorrow Of Mortal Songs.

None Know His Name, Not Truly,
Few Have Seen Him To Tell The Tale.
Dressed In Black, Scythe In Hand, Tall And Quiet,
He Guards The Souls Of The Departed, Seeking No Profit.

Age Matters Little, A Soul Is A Soul,
He Watches Them All, Sees Their Fates Unfold.

He Is A Flame That Destroys As It Creates,
He Is The Well Filling, Chaos And Life Rolled Into One,
He Is The Tree With Roots Deep And A Crown Reaching High,
He Is The Air We Breathe, The Breath Of Life And Death.

He Is A Force Of Nature, Raw And Beautiful And Untamed.
He Does Not Judge Our Crimes,
Nor Does He Overlook The Deeds To Our Name,
He Sees All, Unflinching To The Love And Horror That Is Human.

2 Comments Add yours

    1. 93bnmill says:

      Thanks, L. Stevens!

      Liked by 1 person

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