Plight of a Reaper

 

Hundreds of thousands of years have elapsed,

Nothing seems to have changed since the beginning of time.

With the very utterance of my name.

The horror in everyone's eyes, that fading smile.

A rush of blood to the head.

A Skeletal figure in a dark hooded cloak wielding a scythe.

For ages, I have been known by different forms and names.

To comfort people out of their misery at the end of their time.

An idea of grievance, sadness and the full circle of life.

Death performs its duty, as does life.