The Reaper Poem by Gladden Scribbles

There came a silent knock,
on my frail gentle door
and I strove to turn the lock
in the sorrow cloth I wore
but gently, strangely the knob turned
and wide open my poor door
and airily, forcefully I was receded
like I am bound to walk no more
then silent again there closed the door
with no visible being in my eager sight
and I struggled to reach what my ailment adores
in the deprivation of my might;
my sultry room now freezing
my running mind now out of aim
and weakly I tried screaming
but my speech was hurried from me
then, as I struggled in my shame
loud raced my heart rapidly
like I am in a race to earn my fame
and wide appeared a figure clearly
one which I have never seen.
his fierce face his intent declare
his presence was cold and mean.
he spoke to me of words I couldn't hear
and raised his hand in his posture;
he gave me an eerie stare
and I was a floating picture,
he vanished in the evening air
while I wake as a dreamer
being visited by the reaper.