POEM: DEATH’S HARVEST

Here is one of my poems that I called “Death’s Harvest”. Enjoy:

“I float above a great hall with my trusty scythe in hand.

Below me are the pitiful mortals wasting their lives.

They party and indulge themselves in order to find

meaning, but they are only making it easier for me to

decide their ultimate fate.

 

Banquet tables welcome gluttons with plenty.

Paramours embrace one another with lustful intent.

Proud men glare at one another with envious anger.

In the corner, a fat drunk sleeps like a soft pig.

Oh, how I will enjoy claiming them!

 

With my beloved scythe, I descend upon the hall

each swing of my dark blade fulfills my harvest.

One by one, the sinners fall as their wretched souls

become absorbed by my scythe like a leech

drinking blood.

 

In moments, my task is done with all the sinners

at my skinless feet. Satisfied with the fruit of my

labor, I take my leave. Inside my scythe, the souls

of the sinners scream!”

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