"The Land of the Reaper"

“The Land of the Reaper”

The long -haired youth walked betwixt,
The stones of the dead,
The boy carried a holy spade,
Which poured dirt over a priest’s head,
And a man the boy is made,

The boy walked in a sea of shadows,
Until he reached sanity’s edge,
A grave old and unmarked,
In dark meadows,
A grave that survived the scythe’s edge,

Before the boy shoveled the earth,
He said a small prayer,
As he plunged the blade into the first layer,
For the mystical land,
He would unearth,

As the everlasting night grew long,
The boy shoveled until he reached the red coffin,
Inside, the boy faintly heard a somber song,
As if for him to open,
Beckoning,

With courage and adventure in his heart,
The boy opened the maroon box,
And behold!  The boy looked,
Into death’s door,
And saw a land of desolation and wonder,

The boy saw this world of dark beauty,
Of the red desert and crescent moon,
The boy jumped into the demented dimension,
And the coffin shut simultaneously,
With the crazy laugh of a loon.