The Swift Swinging Leaf Reaper

Hidden by the black cloak of hell,
Slowly stalking behind the old man's chair,
Silently wonder what is the purpose,
Of the Swift Swinging Leaf Reaper.

Approach slowly,
Scythe in one hand,
Globe in the other,
Slowly sweeping the leaves away,
Creating silent chinks,
And invisible sparks,
As metal strikes pavement.

Spinning the scythe,
catching it in the other hand,
Smash the globe,
Lift the scythe,
And bring it down once again;
This is the story,
Of the Swift Swinging Leaf Reaper.

Poetry by Ryker-Lei Glasgow
Read 1097 times
star mini Editors' choice
Written on 2009-01-11 at 02:08

Tags Death  World  Emo 

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liz munro The PoetBay support member heart!
I like the feelings in this

You are a very talented poet


Editorial Team The PoetBay support member heart!
This text has been chosen to be featured on the front page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry website.

sounds like a storm in a rake's hand, I hope the leaves were raked up? I enjoyed the imagination.

A drug induced car crash? Bringing sadness to the old Grandad in the chair?
That's my interpretation and I loved it. (Probably not your intention, but that's how I saw it, and thought it a great poem.)