A poem I have written about the symbol of death, the reaper. Not only is the angel of death often called the reaper but he’s usually only associated with death and this is wrong. He can also be associated with change and transformation.
The reaper haunts my dreams,
My very shadows in the light of day
My insides full of muffled screams,
Silent screams, that shall never go away.
The reaper stands in the door way,
His finger points firmly in my direction
No words does he say, no words do I pray
For he offers to me perfection.
The reaper follows me night and day
His body covered by his dark black cloak
Still no words does he offer my way
And he quickly disappears into the smoke.
The reaper then stands before me at night
Before I sleep and when I sleep,
When my eyes are open and closed tight
I am not frightened but curious of what secrets does he keep.
No the reaper haunts me today and tonight,
This does not mean death, no not death quite yet
But merely a change is a head, maybe it’ll make things right
Whether I want things to or not, but this I know the reaper I have met.
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