The Reaper

-The Reaper-
by
Keaton Foster



Here he comes
Down the street
Across the way
Facing his change
No choice can be made
He will take us
And we must go
To heaven above
To the hell below
Concerns him least of all
He works for God
On loan to Satan
Balance is everything
There can be no life
Without certain death
Forward or reversed
When he calls our name
When he looks our way
When he reaches out his hand
We cannot refuse
The means or the manner
Varies as much as our lives
He is and will always be
The reaper
Death’s masterful servant
He does not hate us
Such a thing as hate
Is certainly not required
He does not love us
Such a thing as love
Is uniquely foreign to him
He understands
Only one thing
One absolute
His duty to humanity
There is nothing else
How could there be
The reaper
Was he once alive
I’d like to think he was
But more than likely
He has never been
He does what he must
And if and when you see him
Such a sight will be your last
Don’t take it personal
Because I’m sure that he doesn’t
It’s his duty to humanity
Just like living and dying
Is ours…



The Reaper
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013