The reaper.
Keeper of mortality.
Morbidly reflects on his throne.
Those held atone for their choices in life.
He gathers their souls in wake of their demise.
Troubled souls wail in anguished cries.
Others go quietly knowing only peace lies in wait.
No pleading, denies him the souls he collects.
Patiently he waits, with his dark brooding traits.
He escorts those that pass on to the afterlife.
Black hooded cloak,wielding a sickle in his grasp.
Alas he severs the souls from their last ties to life.
The stench of death clings in the air.
There he waits for their last intake of breath.
Silenced by the kiss of death.
Delivered to the in between.
Waiting to be deemed worthy of wings.
Or perhaps dropped in a inferno of eternal agony.
Where infernal death dwells.
The fine line between rest in peace and rot in hell.
Saint or sinner, death shall eventually come.
No living soul can run from the sands of time.
The reaper
Keeper of mortality.
When your name is scrawled on his scroll.
When your bones turn brittle and blood pools in hues of blue.
The reaper is near.
Your time is through.
Your soul is due.
He's come to collect you.
Your last moments to reflect.
Your fear, sorrow, and regret mingles with his ice cold breath.
The messenger of death.
The reaper.
Keeper of mortality.
Myth or brutal reality.
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