The Reapers Serende

The reaper plays for her.
He tries to serenade her.
His violin calls to her soul.
Listening, she feels the cold,
Wrap itself around her spine,
It makes her feel dead inside.
But this is only deceit,
Death won’t make her complete.
He’d have her believe,
His violin would relieve;
Eternally comfort her soul.
Truthfully he would catch her,
Forget her,
Then leave her alone.
No comfort in death would she have.
This serenade would tear her soul in half.
His song is not the answer,
She must press on.
He doesn’t believe her,
When she says: “With death I do not belong.”

Photo by Francesco Ciardi


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