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Horror poem based loosely upon the Grim Reaper legend.


Submitted:Jan 31, 2011    Reads: 52    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


The Reaper stalks the dreadful night
His sickle sweeping like a scythe,
As a soulless body tumbles
The Reaper plucks another life.

A remnant from some old-time religion
Still the Reaper keeps reaping on,
And though you think him merely fancy
Still he comes for you anon.

Death in black raiments comes a'lurking
In the form of the dreadful Reaper,
Hunting through night's streets and alleys
Like some loathsome
midnight creeper.

Sickle swinging, a life departing
As the Reaper cuts a swathe,
People run in desperation
But all too soon, they're in their graves.

Like a wave of roiling death
The Reaper cuts our futures down,
Till nothing dares to move or breathe
Or stray out in the haunted town.

A town now lost to naked terror
As death stalks through the empty streets,
Like a policeman with nightstick swathing
As he walks a doleful beat.

The Reaper reaps and few stay standing
In this awful place by night,
Where people lock themselves in houses
Preying just to reach daylight.

Yet the Reaper cannot be halted
As he sweeps his sickle wide,
And though the wary stay well hidden
Still the Reaper won't be denied.

Under bed sheets, inside closets
Cowering people try to hide,
Yet their hopes all turn out futile
As in the night some hundreds die.

Still the people stay cowering inside
Too terrified to attempt to flee,
As the Reaper cuts the town off
Till there is no chance to leave.

Phone lines severed, leaving people
All alone to meet their fate,
Still a few try now to flee
Just to find it is too late.

The Reaper scythes the fleeing folk
Like a farmer scything corn,
Till all hopes and dreams are cut down
Leaving all the town forlorn.

Each and every night that passes
Still more lives are cruelly finished,
And the hopes of those remaining
Are now rapidly diminished.

Slow but sure the town is slaughtered
No-one living there remains,
So the Reaper has to move on
To start once more his gruesome game.

Town by town is decimated
Until a continent has died,
Still the Reaper has not finished
Where there's life, he stalks the night.

THE END
© Copyright 2011
Philip Roberts,
Melbourne, Australia





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