Twisting

Twisting, spinning

Round and round

I think I’ve heard it--

The silent sound.

The reaper whispers in my ear,

“Come to me, child, there’s naught to fear;

Here is nothing for you,

None who will shed a tear.”

He steps forward, gesturing at my chest;

Looking down, a red blossom on my vest.

I feel no pain, nor worldly ties,

My time is up, my earthly demise--

My judgment at hand, before the cross.

Spirits lifted, so to speak

The reaper coming, his will not meek

It seems reality

Has sprung a leek.