The Scythe Carrier who Beckons

He stands in his fields

in his cloak of black,

his face shrouded in darkness,

And with his scythe on his back.

The skies are endless and gray,

the grass goes on forever.

Color is sapped in his wake

as he floats to his endeavor.

He looks to the horizon

to see a single soul

floating on the sky.

He once again beckons his toll.

He reaches for his scythe

in this plane of gray hue,

clenches its metal pole

and the soul begins aglow blue.

The spirit cries outward

as if it intends to flee.

He rips the blade from his back,

poising to carry out his decree.

He raises his weapon

as the souls glows brighter,

Screaming into the abyss!

"It seems we have a fighter..."

He strikes the soul in a swift swipe,

the fields shake with it's mighty bellow.

A flash of white returns the world to gray.

And the fields return to mellow.

Forever onward he goes,

collecting souls to infinite reckons.

As this is the destined eternity...

For the Scythe Carrier who Beckons.