Reaper

Just a poem about... well, the Reaper.

Tall, dark and silent;
He waits;
Patient and ever calm for the final date;
Waits for the moment when one is defiant;

He stalks in the shadows with glee;
Always present near the end;
Always ignoring the pitiful pleas;
The pleas vowing to make an amend;

Happily he hangs over the flickering life;
Finally, the climax is here;
The damned victim, too late, senses death so near;
Finality of the ending pain as sharp as a knife;

He is indulgent;
He is the brooding, silent sneaker;
He is no godsent;
He is the Reaper.