Whim Of The Reaper Grim

A treatise on the whimsicality of life

An unnoticed jostle in a crowded hallway

A sudden cool breeze ‘pon the nape of ones neck

Near miss in a crosswalk yesterday

Fenders crunching in a nearby wreck

A tap on one’s shoulder

And there’s no one there

Fleeting pain,  deep in one’s chest

Leaden sensation of weight

Pressing down on one’s breast

 Cold breath in one’s ear

From out of nowhere

Tis the unseen Reapers Grim

In their bustling about

Reminding us of our own mortality

Day in and day out

Their job is without end

Death but a constant part of life

Their Patron is Satan…

God, chance and fate… 

Kismet and Karma, 

Sickness and strife

So…the next time you feel

An unexpected chill…

A shifting shadow

From the corner of your eye

It could just be…you know

Your time to go

Or simply just a Reaper

…Passing by…

Author's Note

Booga Booga!!!