A Reaper

A creature dark in silver shrouds
In willowed winds of quaking clouds,
It floats as mist in minds of men
And reaps upon their darkest sin.

As darkness comes the waking nights
Are terrorized by wraths requites,
Slowly dripping from its scythe
The blood and fear, the devilish rites.

Praying on the listless frail,
Distraught young fools that men assail
Become enslaved by deaths embrace
To change the telling twist of fate.

The agony that follows death
Feeds off the life of living breath
It eats on sorrow, anger, dread,
A looming creature in our head.