The Reaper

A day in the life of.

The Reaper walks in lament

Misanthropic brow bowed over his mind

Killing naïve hopes.

Tall figure under the Sydney sky

Stooped behind a convoluted lens

A shadow falls beneath the sun

His eye of scrutiny unmatched

The world owes him more, he says

But the world through his eyes is always black

And ignorance is called innocence again.

Retreating indoors to escape the heat

He puts on his shades in the dark

The cool floor of the bathroom

Greets him like a friend again

He longs for flesh, but life comes before bone

Even in Stockholm, that soulless fantasy

Disillusioned favor has him in its death-grip

But a machine doesn’t feel its own hands around its throat.

Like a tear stuck to the eye

Impotent emotion comes slowly

The Reaper on his knees

Humbled by his own lies

He who has designed his own truths

But hates all he thinks he knows of the world.

Author's Note

formatting suggestions? Has the feeling of a fragment, I think.

Reviews

[Neva Flores Smith - Cha..]

does not seem fragmented to me............it is prose and well written

[TheFemininePad]

I had to read over this poem about three times in order to understand what you are trying to convey here. In a way it feels like a fragment, but in a way it feels whole. I'm still confused about the story you are trying to tell. The wording, structure, and flow of the poem is good. It's interesting that you chose the figure of death for this poem. A good poem to read, but somewhat difficult to comprehend.