Musing Of Death Poem by Comrade Senemede Abel Opeyemi

Makumo, I am stuck within all of my fears and griefs,
Of all many thoughts which I had about death;
I have had a had thoughts within the time permits
Wishing there could be armor against death;

But why Makumo?
Why's death so blind and deaf,
So innocent, rich and mean:
Holding a scythe with his icy bunch of five
To harvest souls and reaped them away from life.


But if the day comes when I join the reaper's call,
Embarking on a journey to the sea so tall,
With regrets and gentleness, my heart heavy,
Perhaps this is how I wish to depart, ever ready.

Laying my head down, slowly as can be,
Into a rare dream, where some cheer and others plea.
In this realm, we may become reapers, assigned, No hearts, no eyes, no nose, only scythes we find.