Death Poem by Topher Burton

Life is a fade when he is there
Light is a waste when it's dark.
The shadows of a man isn't our reflection of ourselves.
He isn't human.
He isn't the good.
No soul to be found.
No positivity to be giving.
This is a man with collect of lost souls.
A man that shadows the lost victims.
Death is his living.
Life is his less concern.
I saw him everywhere in the dark.
I try avoiding him.
But the reality is he can't be avoiding.
He warns when our time will be up.
Once our time is up our souls is in the Davy Jones locker.
He wears all back.
He dresses like he cool.
He isn't a fairytale
A fantasy.
A make believer.
HE IS our reality of death.
The man has many names , many names that are pure sure are evil and treacherous as a snake that poison the grass with venom toxins. He shows no mercy, He shows no love no spare no nothing, He is a man of a collection of lost souls. He is a man that walks in the shadows of death. HE is a reality of a negativity message. He is a man with signs and warnings of runs outs of time and washed up lives. He is no man they call him Death or better yet He is known as The Grim Reaper.