Blaming The Reaper

They say look at him now

how he tries to work words.

Tell him he has no meter

and his words, how absurd.

He speaks as if he knows

how a true poet feels bleed

from the heart rhythm and

now from lines come speed.

I hear them they are right

but I know not such delight

as from constructing timbre

or rhyming in bed at night.

My eyes they glisten as my

mind begins beginning listen

to the echo inside my mind

as it turns it’s own ecosystem.

Here I’ll bend to comfort I

might find in my delight for

swimming in creation as I

do like I have never before.

How trite my declarations are

and hollow understanding

of the human mind I do find

my attempt is a mishandling.

The knock upon the door when

death it came to approach me

had me screaming in agony

at times I wield that of tragedy.

Yet I will not yield to such

suffocating thoughts the reaper

has been my way down before

as an unwanted unsung teacher.

The reaper is a man with no

power of creation so I stand tall

trying to understand it all in

the time allotted me I won’t fall.

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