The Reaper Poem by Connor Whyte

The Reaper

Rating: 5.0


What am I doing here, what are we all doing here? Work a dead end job leading me no where only further to my death, money can't buy happiness.

A vacant heart and a loud shout in the dark moving the apparition of myself back to the start light the match to trigger the gas to blow me apart, now I am in pieces ridden of this place and it's corrupted diseases.

Escape my fate and the fowl stench in the air I can taste, gone without a trace you will see things are a lot better without my grace.

Everybody is talking but what is everybody saying? Nothing that matters it's dead silence once the glass shatters only sorrow and execration lies within this cadaver.

I fled the scene left my soul to roam forever alone as I travel this long unhallowed road hearing the sounds of my own echo.

A long spiral downwards as I am prepared for deaths exhale no more worries of imperil its over now as I stare down The Reapers gun barrel.

The Reaper
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Victoria Hudson 21 March 2016

There is a point in this that few can see. These few are people who can understand certain things without going through it, like me. The barrel is tempting, and death seems easy, but once you're gone, you're the only one missing. A moral to the poem there is, one nice and deep. You have talent, some I never actually seen before, atleast not from the living. Please keep writing, I think your work is great.

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Anne Yun 21 March 2016

your voice of the words reminds me a great masterpiece, The Blind Owl, dark but unresitable beautiful, i still remember it's begining - 'There are certain kinds of sores in life that, like a canker, gnaw at the soul in solitude and diminish it'. I won't again say to you that to let more light into your life, your unique experience makes you must fight against with those darkness, now, i'd say, do not fear do not mourn, if you can't help doing, then just rememeber, accept you always as who you are, there can never be another you!

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